Laurel Of Cesare
by Miss Crossbow
Summary: Pain, denial, and then silence. A trip to an even hollower place ensues, as she begins to claim there is no light, no hope to thrive while she lies imprisoned in her aunt's house. But suddenly, one cup of wine and a fortuitous meeting change everything. Cesare/OC CesarexOC Cesare X OC. OC-centric-ish. Multi-fic. Rated M to be safe. R&R pretty please! With sugar on top!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Aaaaaand finally, I get off my lazy butt and start up this thingy. It has come to my attention that there's a small number of Cesare/OC ficlets on here, so I felt the urge to cleanse out that abomination with this. Seriously, gals, dafuq? The guy's simply **_**meant**_** to be a womanizer. xD Either way, to make sure the story is understood in the right way, I shall type up a small ID for the OC just down below. Also, do note that this chapter is short and is here only to serve as the OC's backstory, so real shit starts happening in the next chappie, which'll be up shortly. Aight, that's that. Drop me a review if you like, and I also greatly appreciate constructive criticism. Enjoy! :)**

**OC's ID**

_**Name: **_**Dafne Vespucci**

_**From: **_**Florence (Firenze)**

_**Year of birth:**_** 1477 (she's 9 in this chapter, but that'll change right in the next one).**

**Notice - phrases written in Italian:**

_Gesú Cristo - _Jesus Christ

_Grazie - _Thank you

_Buona fortuna - Good luck_

_Arrivederci -_ Goodbye/Farewell

_Buongiorno - Good day_

_Sono... -_ I am...

_Si -_ yes

_Benvenuta! -_ Welcome!

_Il tuo padre -_ Your father

_Capisci? -_ Understood?/Do you understand?

_Zia -_ aunt

_Perfetto -_ perfect/great

* * *

**1. Chained**

Rushing furiously over the mystic hills of nobody, the carriage advanced forward. The coachman yelled at the shackled horses at the top of his lungs, swinging his whip high above his head. He seemed enraged, adrenaline-full; but in his carriage lied the complete opposite.

Dafne had already given up with her life since she learnt of _it_ in Firenze. Why continue living in shame and pity, clinging onto nothing but self-confidence? She wasn't the kind of person for it. Everything had crumbled.

Her gaze fell on the carriage window. What if she were to end it all now? Only one precise jump would be enough. No pain, no misery, nothing to sulk after anymore.

Or perhaps, as a noble, she deserved a far more theatrical death? Something to remember and tell stories about for decades to come? Dafne decided to wait. Surely, her aunt would have the answer. Would that be the reason destiny sent her on this fateful trip?

"These thoughts of mine I find unbearably heavy. Is it possible for the minds of people to be so poisoned and ruthless, so close-minded and..._Stupid_? My own family...My family...My sister and my parents..."

Dafne sighed and looked towards her knees. Actually, it was her toilette that caught her eye. It was blood-red, adorned with golden threads. She hated it, and with a passion. She wished to tear it apart, shred it to tiny pieces, to let go off its grip. But how would the precious Romans react at the sight of her naked? A scandal, by the name of Gesú Cristo!

Dafne sighed once again, closing her eyes. She couldn't bear staring at anything for too long. It caused her headaches. She pretended the source was unknown, but in reality...Ah, it still appeared hard to admit.

The tormenting silence had finally been broken with the opening of the carriage door. Though the silence inside of Dafne's soul remained uninterrupted.

"Grazie, Signore. Buona fortuna, e arrivederci," upon being given her baggage, Dafne bowed politely to the coachman and bid him farewell, as such refusing him to carry her baggage for her.

She walked the muddy Piazza del Popolo, and it appeared somewhat emptier than she'd expect. Nonetheless, she walked on. Dusk approached as she finally reached her aunt's house, located on the opposite side of Pallazo Senatorio.

Dafne knocked twice.

"Ooh, I'm cooooming!" a cheerful female voice answered from the inside. A middle-aged woman, dressed like she just came out of a grand ball, opened the door. She was short, a bit over-sized, with rose-red cheeks and a natural smile as her facial expression.

"Buongiorno. Sono Dafne Vespucci. From Firenze I come, and for my aunt I search," Dafne spoke as what she thought was polite introducing. The woman's eyes, therefore, widened in surprise, then she sighed, seeming to suddenly remember something that calmed her down.

"Si, si. You came to the right place. Ah!" in a theatrical manner, Dafne's aunt placed her hand on her forehead, as if she was having a headache, and slipped back into the house.

"Here, my child, sit! I shall be right over!" uttering her sentence with some sort of sorrowful pity, as she pointed at the main room table, the aunt disappeared, and Dafne was left alone yet again. But not for long.

"Buongiorno, Signorina, benvenuta! Let me take your baggage to your room upstairs!" a servant walked up to Dafne and took her chest full of clothing, jewelry, and other things, 'a goodbye gift from her family'. Before she would leave, the servant turned to gaze at Dafne, murmuring, "Madonna Agostina's family oughts to be beautiful!"

Left alone in silence, Dafne thought. Words scrambled up inside her brain, forming sentences, a lot of opinions of this and that, before it all expired away. One lingered, though: her family in Florence. Her supposed 'loved ones'. The ones who made her an outcast.

Dafne clenched her fists in prevention of crashing down to the floor and crying.

"Here I am! So, you're Dafne..." different in both appearance and behavior, the aunt returned. She now wore a venomously green jasper toilette, and her eyes shone strictly. Dafne looked at her, innocently biting her lip.

"Funny, I did not see you had any escort when you came," Agostina certainly changed, her voice now colder and colder.

"I wanted not to bother the man, I-"

"Nonsense!"

Dafne's eyes widened at Agostina's sudden exclaim.

"You are a noble! His job is to serve you, and yours is to rely on it! While you are in my custody," the aunt narrowed her eyes, "You will learn your place."

Agostina closed up on Dafne, facing her directly, their noses mere inches away from each other.

The girl's eyes were watery.

"Il tuo padre wrote to me about you. Mark my words: while you're under this roof, there will be no swords, no horses, and you will learn to speak and walk as all the other maidens do. You will grow up to become a lovely woman, you will get married, have children, and live in peace, just like you're supposed to. Capisci?" with a raised finger, Agostina stalked around the room, as Dafne dropped her head, bluntly observing the floor. She jumped from one hell straight into another.

"Si, zia."

"Perfetto! You are free to go to your room and take some rest, you're surely tired. And don't be late for dinner in half an hour!" with that said, Agostina wandered out of the room. Dafne sprang from the chair and ran up the staircase. Finding herself in a wide, heavily decorated corridor, she saw an open door. Glancing through it, she found her chest, which meant that these were meant to be her private quarters from now on.

Dafne closed the door behind herself, eagerly opening her chest and taking out a scrap of blank papers she secretly packed up. Also taking out a writing feather and some ink, she wrote down:

_"April 2nd, 1486, Roma_

_It has become perfectly clear to me that my talents are unwanted by my family. Even my aunt's mind appears poisoned and blind. But I shall not give in. My chapters are yet to be written out._  
_D.V"_

* * *

***Notice: All issues concerning the misplaced history dates I address in Chapter 17, and I explain the reason of them being misplaced in detail. Enjoy the fic. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Second chapter. Nothing much to say; the story slowly unveils, as Dafne meets _somebody_ of great importance in a place she never would've even thought she would meet him at. I've also given her a cray cray friend, 'cause I'm badass like that. :p This chappie is a bit longer than the previous one, I guess I got a little carried away. What can I say, Cesare's a keksi biatch~**

**Notice - phrases written in l'Italiano:**

_Madre di Dio - Mother of God_

_Pezzo di merda - piece of shit_

_Mi dispiace - I'm sorry/Excuse me_

_Salve - Hello/Hi_

_Cara mia - my dear_

_Zia - aunt_

_Bene - good_

_Come sta? - How are you?_

_Grazie - Thank you_

_E tu? - And you?_

_Magnifico - magnificent_

_Tevere - Tiber_

_Si - Yes_

_Mio Dio - My God_

_Sto bene - I'm fine_

_Mi scusi - I'm sorry/Excuse me/Forgive me_

_Senti - Listen_

_Bastardo - bastard_

_Scusatemi - Forgive me_

_Andiamo - Let's go_

_Tartaruga - turtle/tortoise_

_Ho fame - I'm hungry_

_Vino - wine_

_Vieni con me - Come with me_

_Capisco - I understand/Understood_

_Sono... - I am..._

_Basta! - Enough!_

_Ecco! - Here!_

_Allora - So/Then/Now then_

_Niente importante - Nothing important/Nothing special_

_Attrice - actress_

* * *

**2. The Messiah**

**~ Rome, 1492 ~**

A sound of ravaging glass resounded throughout the corridor. Dafne's ears were sensitive enough to hear it. She slowly lied away the booklet she'd borrowed from the Roman library just yesterday and crept up to the door of her room. She pulled it open and witnessed a more or less intimidating sight. Nevertheless, her aunt showed up in mere seconds, with an angered expression adorning her chubby face.

"Madre di Dio! Did I employ a human or a pezzo di merda?!" Agostina scolded, huffing at the female servant, who clumsily picked up the broken pieces of glass, scattered on the polished, wooden floor.

"M-Mi dispiace, Signora," the girl muttered under her breath, desperately trying to clean the mess up as fast as possible.

Unwilling to watch the epilogue of this quite common scene, Dafne ventured back into her quarters. She desired to help the servant out, but falling into another conflict with her aunt would be the last thing the young maiden needed.

Dafne carefully closed the booklet, unable to read on to the sound of Agostina's loud screams and the servant girl's countless, sloppy apologies. She sighed, closing her eyes, falling into her own train of thoughts.

She then opened them up again; the same, boring sight welcomed her back. Dafne observed the detail-full walls, the heavily decorated chandelier that dangled from the ceiling, as well as the silky, red curtains that prevented a bit of sunlight breach into her room.

As much as she avoided to admit, Dafne missed Firenze; its beautiful, advanced buildings, prosperous economics and a wide variety of accepted arts and culture. Rome was...Different. It seemed as though it remained isolated from the rest of the world, as if it refused to renovate and go forward. Despite its glorious history and rich antiquities it bore inside of its walls, Roma was stagnating, and with a passion.

Even after eight years spent in the capital, Dafne did not know much of the currently ruling family; the so-called Borgia, feared by many. She heard stories of their ruthlessness and power, all supposedly rumors, but she could not be sure. And truth be told, she didn't care that much either; politics had never been one of her many fields of interest.

And as the corridor slowly silenced of Agostina's furious wails, something had caught Dafne's attention; a slight puff on the window, caused by a pebble. Obviously, somebody wanted to speak to her, and she already knew who it was.

Dafne stood up from her bed, spreading the window doors wide. In the colorful sea of people who walked the street below, she instantly noticed her friend, who stood under her window, merrily waving towards her.

"Dafne!"

The Florentine formed a small smile.

"Salve, Bianca!"

The latter smirked, playing with one of her long golden locks.

"Come down!" Bianca shouted, and without any hesitation, Dafne turned to obey. She loved Bianca's company; she was a playful, free soul, willing to retell a full history of Rome at the Forum in front of all of its people, and take a bath in the city aqueduct right after.

Dafne enhanced the idea with amusement.

She quickly came down the stairs into the main lobby, feeling neglectful verdant eyes approach her from behind, their stare burning straight into her neck.

"Where are you going, _cara mia_?"

Dafne frowned, not wanting to turn around and face Agostina.

"Out with Bianca, zia."

A few steps could be heard as Agostina walked away to sit on one of the numerous armchairs that were placed in each corner of the room.

"Bene. Don't stay out too late, and watch how you behave! And remember, if I hear one complaint about your actions in public from anybody, mark my words, you will regret ever being born!"

As the aunt finished her malevolent speech, Dafne had lowered her head in anticipation of more, but as she received a stretching silence in return, she nodded in understanding, exiting the house.

"There you are!" Dafne was pleasantly greeted by Bianca, as they hugged each other tightly.

"Come sta?" the blond questioned, with a sparkling grin strangled on her face.

"Bene, grazie. E tu?"

"Magnifico!" she strangled herself around Dafne again, thus letting out a few mesmerizing chuckles.

"Come, we've much to see tonight," linking her hand in Dafne's, Bianca pulled her along.

"Where are we going?" Dafne asked, excitedly scratching her nose with her other free hand as they exited the Palazzo Senatorio.

"To the Tevere. A wealthy merchant is hosting a celebration there, and quite a few important Officials will be present among the guests. It shouldn't be a problem for us to sneak in, no?" Bianca spoke, tilting her head back at Dafne, playfully asking of approval.

"Si. Do you happen to know more of the identity of these _important_ Officials?" Dafne nodded, glaring slightly at the Mausoleo di Augusto they had just passed by. Glorious and great, but dirty and ill-kept.

"No, not really...But there are rumors that one of the Pope's sons will attend. But I cannot guarantee," Bianca replied, as they swiftly moved from one street to another, remaining silent for the rest of the trip.

"_The Pope's son_," Dafne wondered for herself, bluntly throwing glances toward the surrounding houses, as a curtain of mystery glided upon her mind.

"Ah, here we are!" Bianca broke the silence as they approached a sight worth seeing; stands overwhelmed with wine jugs and cups, a gloriously supplied banquet, men and women freely wandering from place to place, often engaging into flirt and even intercourse.

"Mio Dio..." Dafne had supremely lost her breath, her eyes watery and her lips dry. She clung onto her friend's shoulder, struggling to keep herself sane.

"...Dafne?"

Bianca's worried question had tangled Dafne out of her sudden trance.

"Sto bene. Mi scusi...I have never witnessed such a sight," the Florentine made a clear confession, absent-mindedly rubbing her forehead as she spoke. Bianca snorted softly.

"Oho, this is nothing compared to what I've seen, I ensure you," she then added after a brief pause, "But that's quite enough. Come, we're growing older with more time we lay to waste, believe it or not."

Now amused and with her surprise settled far behind, Dafne laughed genuinely, grasping Bianca's hand, as they marched towards the party together.

As the girls approached, the soldiers guarding up front had halted them.

"You are not allowed to proceed," a heavily armed Brute declared. Bianca gazed back at Dafne, winking slightly, and the Florentine silently chuckled.

"_Who_," Bianca made up a fake exasperated voice as she placed her hands on her hips, "are _you_ to even find yourself confident enough to throw a glance at me? Do you not know who my father is, you dirtiest of peasants?!"

The guard's chin was visible, and a drop of sweat raced down his jaw, as he gulped anxiously.

"I...I..."

Bianca groaned irritably, gripping the muscled guard by the neck and pulling him down to her level.

"Senti, bastardo! If my father hears of this, you can consider your life being worth as much as the very mud you're standing on right now! Do you comprehend?"

The now frightened guard shivered along with his armor, and as Bianca released him, he quickly stepped aside to let them through, mumbling, "Scusatemi, Signora, I did not know-"

"Ah, not a word more! Andiamo, cara mia, I cannot stand remaining close to this pezzo di merda a second longer!" the blonde grabbed Dafne's hand and they ventured into the celebrating crowd. Dafne was having a hard time sustaining the tears of laughter drip down her rosy cheeks.

"Just where do you find the inspiration?" she questioned through a giggle.

"Ah, in these times we inhabit, we must be adaptive, no? Unless we wish to live through our lives in a shell like a tartaruga!" Bianca replied, and Dafne nodded in agreement, not needing to add anything to that statement.

"Anyway, let's go pauperize that lovely feist over there, ho fame!" Bianca pleasantly rushed to the long table, inspecting the numerous meals it held. Dafne walked over to one of the wine stands, curiously observing the calm beverage deep into the confines of the jug.

"As red as blood. Never have I tasted it, but I've heard it harbors truth, a carnage to the mind and an aphrodisiac to the body. Exciting..." she levered the jug and sipped wine into a cup. Dafne brought it up to her nose, taking in its hypnotizing odor.

The moment after, she felt it burn her tongue and throat, twist her brain, blurry her vision.

Her surroundings suddenly moved in a slow, slumber motion, as the cup left Dafne's hand, and she was having a difficult battle with gravity.

And just when Dafne anticipated a harsh fall, somebody had grasped her, holding her tightly. But she could not see who it was, her head falling back, eyes lost in the dusk-approaching sky. She heard a voice, but she wasn't sane enough to comprehend who it belonged to.

"...do you hear me? Signorina?"

As Dafne's mind slowly cleansed and she started returning to her senses, she determined a male voice spoke to her with a tone between worry and annoyance.

_Male voice?_

Upon finally gaining courage to lift her head, Dafne saw a man; young, handsome, navy eyes sharp and dark chocolate hair steadily hanging on his shoulders. She looked at him with a sense of shame heating up in her cheeks. Or was it just the gross effect wine had on her?

"I..." Dafne struggled to speak, her head in pain as if it took a good beating.

"Are you alright?" the young man demanded more than asked, as if he regretted his presence there.

"I...Si, I think I am, grazie. I have never tasted vino before, scusatemi, er, Signor...?" Dafne tried her best to act polite, even though her brain still danced tango inside of her skull.

"Cesare," appearing somewhat phased for a moment, the man replied, swiftly brushing his long fingers through his hair before adding, "It caught my notice that you drank more than enough to bewitch yourself, considering you've never felt it before."

A soft laugh escaped his lips as he stood up and offered a hand to Dafne.

"Vieni con me, I'll show you how it's done."

Slight arrogance reflected in his orbs as he took Dafne's hand and walked her back to the stand. The fallen cup was still there, the red substance still freshly still on the ground.

"Until you gain more experience, I suggest swallowing sips less big and draining your cup more slowly. Here," he poured wine into the glasses, handing one over to Dafne.

"Capisco," she answered, doing as he told her. Lowering the cup down, she smiled.

"Sono Dafne-"

"_Helping_ you did not mean I wanted to _befriend_ you," Cesare mercilessly cut her off, his blue eyes narrowing.

Dafne was certain it was shame that reddened her face this time.

"I see. Mi dispiace."

She slightly bowed her head, her face adorned with a pathetic stare to the ground. And Cesare walked off.

"Dafne?" Bianca had approached her, and the Florentine quickly faked a smirk.

"Enjoying yourself?" she questioned, eyes shifting around to check if the ruthless youngster was still near.

"Oh, quite! They've lovely pork over here, I am truly amazed. Come, try it!" Bianca dragged Dafne along, as the Florentine's heart pounded inside of her ribcage, her head held low. She could not enjoy anymore.

As Bianca blithered about the best way to cook pork, Dafne scaled the great mass of guests, searching for...Him. She couldn't help but feel guilty for being impolite with someone of obvious importance. Even if you looked from a mile distance, you could clearly determine that he was of noble origin. His stance, his appearance, his speech - it reeked of wealthy and nonchalant.

"Are you going to eat that or not?" Bianca cut her off with a sudden question.

"Hm?" Dafne tilted her head confused.

"The piece of meat I just handed you. Will you eat it?"

Dafne gazed down at her palm startled; she hadn't even noticed when she had grasped it.

"No, you can have it," she quickly put it back on an empty plate, jiggling her hands against one another to clean them. She was inspecting the crowd again. And then, Dafne spotted him; he sat at the banquet table far from them, eating a particularly big piece of meat, and ate something that Dafne identified as Caesar's salad along with it.

"_Classy_," she thought with a chuckle, observing as he took a sip from the goblet brimming with 'truth'. Dafne couldn't help but feel mesmerized the more she looked at him. Those eyes, that hair-

"Dafne? Are you still with me or did that lad take away all of your mind already?" Bianca's latest statement had made the color rush into the Florentine's cheeks, her stare scared and movement manic.

But she relaxed as she saw a teasing smile on her friend's face.

"C-Cut it out, it's not even funny!" Dafne muttered, faking annoyance in her exasperated voice.

"Do you think me blind? I can see the way you look at him. You'd just get yourself into his face and-"

"Dio, basta!" Dafne quickly covered Bianca's mouth, nervously turning from side to side.

Dropping her meat, Bianca grabbed Dafne by her waist, alerting the Florentine even more.

"Standing around will do us no good. Come on."

And before she knew it, for the umpteenth time, Dafne was pulled along, as she desperately fought for freedom out of Bianca's grip.

"No! No! You'll embarrass me! Agostina will kill me! No!_ Stop_!" Dafne screamed at the top of her lungs, hands wavering around uncontrollably.

"Oh, just calm down, it'll be fine, I promise!" failing in hiding a snicker, the blond couldn't help but feel proud for noticing her friend's stare. She was happy somebody had finally caught her eye. Although Dafne didn't seem to be as pleased about it.

"No! Let me go! Bianca Cingolani, I swear to God, I will-"

"Ecco!"

Without a warning, Bianca had thrown Dafne forward, and it took Dafne a few moments to maintain her balance. Gazing up front, she saw him and his amused smirk.

"Had some more wine in the meantime, Signorina?" Cesare laughed through a swallow, knitting his eyebrows at the shaking female.

"Oh, Signor Cesare! What coincidence, it seems we meet again!" Dafne exclaimed merrily, throwing a furious glance at Bianca, who was at a safe distance, smirking widely. She took a seat next to Cesare.

An awkward silence resented as Dafne observed the man empty his goblet.

"Allora, what do you do for a living?"

He looked away from her, his tongue lurking around his lips, as she sat beside quietly, not knowing whether the question was appropriate.

"I learn; I subdue; I feel; simply put," Cesare turned to look her straight in the eye, "I_ live_."

Dafne shivered under his stare, nodding apologetically in response.

"And yourself, Signorina...?" he asked, taking a snow-white napkin out of his pocket and flickering it over his lips and cheeks.

"Dafne, since you're interested _now_," the Florentine sweetly teased, but as he narrowed his navy orbs at her, she quickly went to answer the question.

"Niente importante. La mia zia è un attrice. I am originally from Firenze, my family had sent me to my aunt's custody because-"

But Dafne had bit her tongue before she could continue. The scars of the past still burned and bled even after so long, as if she had gotten them just yesterday.

"_Because_?"

Cesare's yet another impatient remark reminded Dafne of her whereabouts.

"...Because, they thought...Er, life in Roma would do me better, offer me more chances," the Florentine quickly made up, praying that her story was sound.

But she received a hysterical snicker from Cesare's side.

"Signorina, I must warn you that lies cannot poison my mind. Therefore, speak veritably, or not at all."

Dafne found herself blushing under Cesare's impaling gaze once again, so much that silence resented for almost a minute. Though Cesare used that time to gift the upright Florentine some more attention; observing her closely, taking in her appearance, her restless verdant eyes racing from his face into the evening sky, and down to earth. Her cinnamon hair responded to her movement, as it flowed and wavered, wrapped in an emerald-toned ribbon.

"Scusatemi," Dafne finally gathered the courage to reply, adding with a sorrowful smile, "My family did not want me. So they sent me to my aunt."

Cesare cocked an eyebrow, gesturing her to continue.

"As a child, I have always been told that my destiny lies in becoming a lady, learning how to cook and look after children, and finally, marriage. But as I grew up, I've realized that I wanted more. So many topics and interesting things left unexplored simply because my parents thought it best. Before I knew, I was secretly sneaking out at night, lurking to the stables so I could feel the wind storm through my hair as I rode on horseback. I trained in the art of swordsmanship, in both literary and physical way. Eight years ago, however, I've been discovered. And it has been bestowed to me that I am not needed the way I am. I was worthless and shallow. And that's how I've found myself in Roma, practically imprisoned by my aunt. Like a caged bird, striving for freedom, for glorious knowledge and ability, for things that are beyond..."

As she spoke, Dafne's soul was cracked open; it was a broken-hearted confession, something that she had never told anyone, not even Bianca. Yet there she was, carelessly revealing her pain to a stranger, who found himself more than interested to listen to it.

Dafne's voice had died in her throat, as her eyes filled with hot tears, which she struggled to keep from crashing down her cheeks.

Cesare was silent. He didn't smirk, he didn't laugh. For a moment, he didn't breathe, as thoughts raced through his mind. Until it occurred to him perfectly clear...


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: New chappie, YAYS! I've managed to get it out along with the next one, in TWO HOURS! How cool is that, huh? Too cool for you to even comprehend the magnificent infinity that- Yeah. B| Anyway, yeap, chappie no. 4 should be up pretty soon as well. Maybe. Muahaha~ 'Til then, I hope you like this one! And I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank my two awesome friends who agreed to read this story and took a liking to it! You're both awesome, guys! :* And also thanks tHeWeIrDoW for Following and Dolce Latte Van for reviewing, I appreciate it greatly. Now shoo, go read!**

**Notice - phrases written in Italian:**

_Che? - What?_

_Si - yes_

_Perfetto - perfect_

_Bene - good_

_Arrivederci - Goodbye/Farewell_

_Senti - Listen_

_Mi dispiace - I'm sorry/Forgive me_

_Il segreto - a secret_

_Per che? - Why? (lit. For what?)_

_Mia cara amica - my dear friend_

_In bocca al lupo - Good luck (lit. In the mouth of the wolf)_

_Crepi il lupo - Likewise/An answer to the upper-mentioned (lit. May the wolf die)_

* * *

**3. Sealing**

**~ Rome, 1492 ~**

Cesare winced at the sudden appearance of the idea in his mind, as he blinked at Dafne with more interest than ever before. And Dafne became highly cautious the moment she noticed the latter's behavior.

"Che?" she asked, confusion injected in her voice. In response, she received an enigmatic smile that rose on the tip of Cesare's lips.

"So, you say you've experience with blades and horses? And that you strive for freedom, for a higher purpose?"

His latest remarks sent a few shivers down Dafne's spine; what was he onto?

"Si," she replied, with a giant gulp stuck in the middle of her throat.

Cesare's smile now became a grin.

"Perfetto," he said, satisfaction shining in his blue eyes. He sprang up from his chair, gesturing Dafne to follow him.

However, the young Florentine sat in doubt for a good couple of seconds; she desperately reminded herself that this man was nothing more than a mere stranger, who's looks she came to admire, but looks aren't everything. But there was something, something deep, secretive and sacred, that urged her up and towards the man. Something...From beyond. Something she'd been searching for. Just what she needed. An escape route from the pain and the dark confines of prison.

Dafne stood up and walked in silence, to wherever this man would lead her.

Covered in the shade of the setting sun, Cesare stumbled upon a blind street, and eagerly entered it, waiting for Dafne to join.

"Now then," he announced upon her arrival, turning to face her, his grin wider by the second. Observing it, Dafne wouldn't acknowledge fear, but curiosity of what awaits.

"Yes?" she asked, brushing a few locks from off her nose, thus closing her eyes. But suddenly, she could feel breathing on her forehead, hot and fast. Alerted, she opened them, and in a flash, strong arms pushed her towards the wall, pinning her in their grip. Dafne now directly faced Cesare.

"You want freedom? A reason worth living for? Is it true?" he coaxingly breathed into her ear, as her body shook against his.

"Yes."

Dafne's voice was surprisingly calm, almost harsh, opposite to her inner feelings.

After a brief pause, Cesare started snickering. His mildly soft snickers quickly turned into a ruthless, almost animalistic cry of a laughter. Dafne stood in horror, her jaw slightly dropping.

"Ah, fantastic," Cesare murmured upon finally ending his laugh, his eyes now fixated into the Florentine's,

"Listen to me, _closely_."

Dafne took the opportunity to nod as he prepared to continue.

"I have what you need. I can provide you your reason, your goal. Imagine, your dreams coming to life. I can give you the acknowledgement you've been lacking. I can make it all reality."

Dafne's orbs had gotten misty as Cesare spoke, her mind racing, lost.

"But only under _one_ condition."

A gasp fluttered out of Dafne's lips, her breath shaking and her knees weak. After so many painful years of searching, fighting, striving, a bright star shone in the coal mass of night. She wished to trust the man, to accept without hesitation, but...Was she to really trust him?

"Why...?" she managed to murmur after a pause, "Why me? Why would you do it? What motivation do you bear?"

Moving away, Cesare laughed again, tenderly this time.

"I've a goal, a noble goal, and I wish to fulfill it. But I cannot achieve it alone. I am in need of capable, intelligent people, willing to go to the edge of the world for the sake of our goal and me myself. A good female warrior, or if you'd rather, a woman interested in combat, is a rare trait nowadays. I feel God favors my luck for letting me find you today."

He stopped for a moment, turning to face Dafne once again, his arm spread towards her.

"I can help you become something more. I can gift you with skill and knowledge, grant you freedom. Shape you. But only if you will aid me in my goal. That is the condition."

Dafne lowered her head, suddenly finding the ground amusing. Chills slithered onto her skin, not of anxiety, but of happiness. Indeed, she had had enough of everything, threats, despair, calamity, everything. More than anything in the world, she craved a savior, a chance. And here he stood, right before her, and she could feel doubts and regrets leaving her mind as her lips uncontrollably formed a smile, and her eyes filled with tears again. She raised her head back up, and a rain of joy poured down her cheeks.

"I accept. I'll help you. I swear it on my life."

With a satisfied grin adorning his face, Cesare came forth to Dafne, shaking her hand.

"A wise decision, Signorina Dafne. Rest assured that you won't regret it."

The Florentine nodded with a hopeful smile, happiness brimming out of her eyes.

"Very well. I will have you moved into the Castello in the morning-"

"Il Castello?"

Cesare knitted his brows upon Dafne's confused question. He gave her a few moments to realize the answer herself.

"Wait, you're...?" Cesare smiled as she spoke again, as such silencing her. And then, Dafne finally comprehended who the man before her really was. A Borgia. And Bianca did mention one of the Pope's sons would attend. Not for the slightest of seconds had it crossed her mind that Cesare could possibly be something more than an ordinary nobleman.

Dafne felt a reflex in her spine that urged her to bow down, as she observed Cesare in awe. This earned her another soft snicker from his behalf.

"There is no need for that. We are allies now. And as I was saying, I will have you moved to the Castello in the morning. I will organize your room and your personal staff. Pack only what is of greatest importance. I will explain further once that is done."

Before she could faint from the sudden revelation, Dafne nodded in understanding, trying her best to keep conscious.

"Bene. Do not speak of this to anyone. Come alone and let no one follow you. Give this to the guards, and they will let you through," Cesare pulled out a scrap of paper, with the Pope's personal, blood-red seal on it. The seal that, apparently, seals her destiny with the powerful family. Little could Dafne even imagine of what lies ahead.

"I've put my faith into you. Don't underestimate it."

Politely accepting the paper, the seal reflected in her verdant orbs, as she gulped again, sweat dripping from her chin.

"Arrivederci," Cesare's farewell had made Dafne flinch slightly, as she responded with a weak wave, her eyes going back to the dreadful seal...

* * *

"B-But, are you sure?"

Never had Bianca been so upright about anything. Never had Dafne seen her so flustered. And never had she glared at her as much.

"I am telling you the truth. I am abandoning Agostina's godforsaken hell for good," Dafne murmured eagerly, fury carving in the back of her head. Back in that blind street, as the night sky gathered its stars, she had made a decision, a vow; anything for the sake of freedom and existence. Anything at all. Even if it meant befriending a complete stranger whose goals she is yet to determine. Nothing mattered in the end; it was for her sake. For the sake of the fogged future.

Bianca huffed.

"But where will you go?" she asked, brushing through one of her curly golden locks nervously. Dafne sighed. The fact that she could not tell a thing to her closest friend ate her up from the inside. Worse, Dafne realized, she will have to abandon her alongside her aunt. Her past. Everything was to be left behind.

She bit her lip as she anxiously observed Bianca.

"Senti..." Dafne began, but something had trapped her voice in the depths of her neck, rendering it useless, void. But as she caught Bianca's navy stare, a trigger was pulled; she had to sever the bond, put an end to it, now.

"I...I must go. But I cannot tell you where, or why...I know, it is unclear to you, my behavior seems strange, but...I do it for a higher purpose, for a greater good. And that is why my final request from you is-"  
Dafne's speech was cut off by a sorrowful wail from Bianca's behalf.

"Y-You...You don't plan on dying, do you? Please, it is not worth it! You _can't_!"

Dafne's eyes widened, as she observed the blond in sheer surprise.

"My my, calm yourself! I would never take my life, at least not with this turn of events," she replied, and the moment she silenced, Bianca stopped bickering, stare curiously fixated on the Florentine.

"What do you mean by that?"

Dafne was expecting the question, so she prepared to counter.

"It must remain a secret. Mi dispiace."

Bianca knitted her brows, glaring at her friend with a certain weight. This kind of answer was unexpected.

"I...I do not comprehend what you mean. Il segreto?"

Dafne nodded uneasily, impaling the lively surroundings with her emerald orbs. She couldn't even face her friend properly anymore.

"Per che?" Bainca's tone was now venomously dangerous, as she inhaled and exhaled quickly.

Dafne's lip shook.

"I've explained it the best I could. This is not as easy for me as you might think. I will miss you dearly."

The Florentine attempted to move in for a hug, but Bianca darkly gazed away from her, as such rejecting the friendly act. Arms shivering from the pain she felt inside of her chest, Dafne sustained a scream. Without a word more, she turned her back to Bianca, eyes shifting and power fading.

_I have what you need._

She walked forward with an uneven, ravaging step.

_I can provide you your reason, your goal_.

Her eyes brimmed with tears again.

_Imagine, your dreams coming to life. I can make it all reality._

Jolts whiskered up and down her spine, as she walked on.

_I can help you become something more. I can gift you with skill and knowledge, grant you freedom._

A gasp escaped her lips as she turned back, gazing at her dear friend.

_Shape you. But only if you will aid me in my goal._

And as Cesare's voice echoed through her skull, with a river falling down her rosy cheeks, Dafne stopped and stared. Bianca was bitterly still, biting her lip, perhaps trying to hold in the bursting sadness. She refused to bless Dafne with a look, not even a flicker; it was the end. An end of a beginning, and a beginning of an end.

"Arrivederci, mia cara amica. In bocca al lupo," Dafne breathed into the uncertain air, finally pushing herself to advance. She had spoken quietly, but she was sure Bianca had heard.

"Crepi il lupo...Dafne."

She had heard the reply, and she forced a smile through the tears. Reflecting upon the broken friendship, she realized she missed her friend already.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here it is. I hope you like this one! Personally, this chappie was the most interesting to write up until now, and I quite enjoyed what I did here. And I know both this and the previous are not as long as the 2nd one, but oh well, I just decided to divide them up more plainly, so they wouldn't be a pain in the neck to read because they're 'too long' or whatevs. Anyway, that's it, off 'ya go, the chappie's just down below! Hope 'ya like!**

**Notice - phrases written in (unf) Italian:**

_Buongiorno - Good day/Hello_

_Ma - But_

_Tieni - Here_

_Grazie - Thank you_

_Puttana - bitch/whore_

_Disgustosa - disgusting_

_Adesso __basta - Enough now/Enough already_

___Il tuo tempo é arriva. - Your time has come._

___Requiescat in Pace - Rest in Peace_

___Cazzo - fuck/damn_

___Benvenuta - Welcome_

___Modesta - modest/humble_

___Casa - house/home_

___Onoratissima. - I'm honored._

___Ragazza - girl_

* * *

**4. The Proof**

**~ Rome, 1492 ~**

Dawn approached the empty streets of Rome, as the birds flew to announce the mark of a new day. Everything was calm, still, not a noise could be heard.

Except for one restless, ghostly pale maiden, who roamed the city on horseback, with wind dancing through her long hair, now released off the ribbon's hard grip, spurting around freely.

Dafne enjoyed the gentle Roman breeze pierce her face; it awoke her, kept her sane, as she traveled to her aunt's house. She could feel dread rise in her abdomen, for she knew Agostina would be in a feisty mood. The reason for it was Dafne herself. She hadn't come home the whole night, and Agostina hated broken promises, hence her phrase 'mark my words'.

But as Dafne had thought it over for a thousand times, it didn't matter; she was leaving the old hag after all. She couldn't care less about her opinion on it either. Her stay in Roma had been unpleasant to begin with, all thanks to the troublesome actress.

Dafne longed for an ending to that. The very thought of that woman sickened her to no extent.

Trembling as she jumped off of the horse and chased it away, Dafne spotted Agostina's house keeper. He yawned slightly, for he had been watching over the house during night, but he quickly stretched up the moment he noticed Dafne approach him.

"Buongiorno, Signorina! Signora Agostina-"

"I _do not_ care," Dafne bitterly interrupted him, making him nod in apology, "I want you to bring me a sword."

The man winced upon hearing Dafne's order.

"M-Ma, Signorina, it is prohibited-"

"_This instant_, Giacomo," Dafne cut the keeper off once again, "Or I shall go retrieve it myself."

Without other solutions, the man had to obey. He disappeared into the house backyard, and returned after a few moments with the blade in hand, it illuminated by the beautiful morning sun. He also brought her a sash.

"Tieni, Signorina," politely bowing down, Giacomo handed the blade to Dafne, and she almost smuggled it out of his hands, eager to put it to good use after such a long time. She quickly put the sash around her stomach, sheathing the sword.

"Grazie. You are dismissed."

Without uttering anything further, Dafne left towards the house, feeling a slight headache because of the lack of sleep. She slowly sneaked inside the house, sighing in relief when no one appeared to be in sight. Careful not to step loudly, Dafne climbed up the stairs and reached her room, seemingly unnoticed.

The moment she entered the room, she grimaced disgust; the very air was choking her, making her headache duller. Quickly grabbing her chest, Dafne almost ran out of there, thanking the heavens she had kept her things locked in it.

As she struggled to see over the wooden crate, Dafne made her way down the stairs, the blade lightly bumping against her thigh as she walked. A quiet gasp escaped her lips as she memorized the first time she held a blade; at first, it was awkward, unusual, she wasn't sure what was she to exactly do. But as she learnt to swing it, to turn it, to pierce with the speed of light - those were moments that last forever. When you find yourself in something, it brings you joy from beyond, even in the darkest times.

Dafne drew a small smile as the memory faded within her mind. She had reached the bottom of the stairs and went for the door, when suddenly-

"Puttana disgustosa!"

A loud shriek stormed through the air as Dafne felt something quite hard hit her from the side. In shock, the Florentine fell to the ground with a loud puff, grasping her head in agony, as her vision blurred.

Her aunt violently rolled her onto her back, pure white furry reflecting in her narrowed eyes, as she was just starting. Dafne gulped.

"You _dare_ disobey me and take that _thing_ even though I prohibited it since you arrived?! You will suffer the full consequences of opposing me, you pathetic excuse for a human!" as Agostina's exclaims echoed off the walls, she raised her hand, stoically slapping Dafne, thus creating a bleeding cut on her cheek with one of her rings. Dafne dug her nails into the wooden floor, her orbs watery and breath shaking.

A few moments later, Agostina repeated the act, earning a huff of pain from Dafne, as she grinned sadistically down at her niece. She enjoyed grinding the girl, making her worthless body flicker in pain and awe. She wished to rip her heart out. The brat did not deserve life anyway.

As Agostina moved in for another blow, Dafne screamed. As the woman waved her arm towards her, Dafne was ready; she grabbed her aunt's hand, holding it firmly, as she struggled to keep the heavy woman still.

"Adesso _basta_."

As she sat up, Dafne reached for her sword.

"Il tuo tempo é arriva."

Her voice emotionlessly cold and eyes misty, Dafne pulled the sword out, its tip aimed towards the aunt's chest. The woman gasped, as she moved uncontrollably in fear, observing the incoming blade.

"No-"

"Requiescat in Pace."

_Pierce._ A shot through the woman's system. Life leaving her eyes as her face became dark, void. Her trapped arm that fought for freedom out of Dafne's grip a mere few seconds ago had become shallow and weakened completely. An unfulfilled scream lingering on her lips. Heart vanishing into nothingness as she fell.

Dafne's eyes were open wide; she impaled the red substance coming out of Agostina's abdomen and dripping down the sword and onto her own hand, crudely drying down on her skin.

Dafne winced; she let go off the blade, and harshly pushed Agostina away. She looked at her palm; soaked in fresh blood. Its odor made way to her nostrils, sending shivers up and down her spine.  
Dafne's jaw dropped.

"C-Cazzo..." she muttered under her breath, grasping her head with her free hand, trying to sustain a horrifying cry. Dafne's head lowered weakly, as she whimpered and sobbed, eyes shifting towards her reddened palm.

She couldn't bear it, the blood; she was not a murderer. This was actually a first time she had taken a life. For a higher purpose.

But that was it! The freedom, the goal, the dreams! It needed to be done. There was no other way.

Dafne tried to cope with the said thoughts; when had she become so obsessed? And then she saw; the piercing, blue gaze, so close, yet so far. The same gaze that awaited her in the Castel Sant'Angelo. The one she had just caused death for.

Finally gaining the courage to stand up, Dafne flinched as she pulled the sword out of her aunt's lifeless body. Not even bothering to clean the blade, Dafne sheathed it back, picking up her fallen chest.

As she turned her back to Agostina and exited the godforsaken house, Dafne didn't look back; she liked to imagine that she had already forgotten her aunt had ever inhabitated the world.

* * *

"Halt!"

Dafne stilled her horse with one swift command, glaring at the soldier bellow.

"You do not have permission to-"

The Florentine pushed her hand into her bossom, pulling a small scrap of paper that bore the Pope's seal. Highly intimidated, the guard stared at it for a second, slightly indulged, before bowing down and letting Dafne pass without a word.

Dafne charged over the bridge, her hair elegantly floating behind her, eyes tired but soul ready.  
Entering the stables of the Castel, she rode to a cart full of hay, letting her horse enjoy its delights as she got off, gazing around herself.

There was another entrance that lead further into the Castello, protected by two heavily armed Papal Guards. Dafne stared awkwardly at them, not knowing what to do next.

Luckily, two voices could be heard from the other side. One Dafne recognized. She stretched up her back, standing still in anticipation.

The two men laughed pleasantly as they walked through the entrance, though it was unbeknownst to them that they were approaching Dafne.

"And so, I told him, 'if you die now, I will kill you!'" Cesare told to the other man, who snickered in response. Dafne smiled a bit as well, letting a few giggles escape her lips. And that seemed to alert the men of her presence.

Cesare smirked.

"Ah, Signorina, benvenuta in mia modesta casa!" he spread his arms in greeting, and for a second, Dafne wished to slip into his grip, but she fought it, remembering the horrifying deed from not long ago.

"Grazie, Signor Cesare. I am eternally grateful," she bowed deeply before him, earning another snicker.

"Ah, meet Micheletto, my right-hand man," as the man was introduced, he nodded politely towards Dafne, his black silky hair dancing on the light breeze and dark orbs shining, "And also, my closest friend."

Dafne blinked in understanding, simply replying, "Onoratissima, Dafne Vespucci."

She shook hands with Micheletto, and Cesare observed them, muttering something under his breath.

"This is the ragazza I had spoken to you of earlier," Cesare murmured crisply, "You know what to do."

The very idea that someone had spoken of her amused Dafne to no extent. Micheletto nodded and walked up behind her, as she wondered what was to happen next.

Without a warning, Micheletto had thrown a rope around her neck, and squeezed, leaving just enough space for Dafne to breathe. The Florentine huffed in shock, feistily placing her hands on the rope, trying to pull it off in desperation. But Micheletto only tightened it the more she fought back.

"My servants, as you may know, require loyalty and obedience should they wish to enter my service. With that in mind, do say, how may we trust you?"

As Cesare's words made their way to Dafne's ears, she stopped her manic movement, the rope's grip immediately lessening, though still giving her trouble breathing. Her head fell as she darkly observed the ground for a few long moments.

_No turning back._

Dafne grabbed her sword and pulled it out, pointing its tip straight at Cesare. The blade was still covered in blood.

"I had used this to put my aunt Agostina to rest. You will find her corpse lying in the living room of her house. She tried to stop me from leaving, she attacked me," Cesare observed the two scars on Dafne's cheeks, "But I had not allowed her. I've taken her life for the sake of your goal. Our goal. Is this enough?"

Dafne's and Cesare's gazes met; for a second, they stared deeply, as if they were examining each other's souls. Dafne could feel Micheletto's grip loosen, but he still held her firmly.

Cesare had finally nodded, as such signaling Micheletto to release the Florentine maiden. She fell to her knees, striving for air like an artist strives for a masterpiece.

Once her breath had finally evened, Dafne rose her head, only to see Cesare right in front of her, his arm spread.

"You are welcome into our Order," he murmured, a smile adorning his face. He did not feel sorry or guilty, nor grateful at that matter, his stare did not falter, he did not try to soothe her; in that moment, Dafne realized - the man before her was ruthless, sharp, immoral and ready for anything for the sake of the interest. Simply, the perfect leader.

Grasping her sword, she accepted Cesare's helping hand; he easily pulled her up, as she sheathed her blade, covered in his shadow.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Y'know, using journal entries as a way of writing doesn't look as bad as it sounds, to me at least. I like how it turned out, and thus, it saves me a lot of time and effort. Perfect for a lazy bum like me. *laughs whole-heartedly*. Anyway, this one's somewhat longer, I'm experimenting some thingies here, but I promise the old-style writing in the next chappie. Do tell me what you think!**

**Notice - phrases written in (ah ah) Italian:**

_Il segreto - a secret_

_Ragazza - girl_

_Si - yes_

_L'incubo - a nightmare_

_Guarda - Look_

_Non é facile. - It isn't easy._

_Merda - shit/crap_

_Salve - Hello/Greetings_

_Scusatemi - I'm sorry/Forgive me_

_Capisci? - Understood?_

_Va bene - Okay/Good_

* * *

**5. Haunted**

**~ Rome, 1492 ~**

_"...As I lied my eyes on her lifeless body, I thought of the future, and what I was getting myself into. What else will I experience while in his service? I can only imagine. He seems to have this goal, to become the Captain General of the Papal Army, and unite all of Italia. He spoke of it during lunch today. It struck me at first, but I then realized; what stops him? I myself find the idea interesting, but I remain unsure on its possibility to be acclaimed. But Cesare has this breath-taking, magnificent ambition in his eyes and voice; he will not stop until he has met every last one of his desires. The very idea of rebelling against such a man paralyzes me. But even the most frightened slave gains the courage of fighting back, no matter the cost. My aunt now lies dead thanks to the said._  
_I now lay in my bed in the confines of the Castello Sant'Angelo. My new home. I wonder how much will it take me to memorize all the rooms and halls?_  
_D.V"_

With a prolonged yawn, Dafne closed her journal, placing it back into her ark. She lifted the bed sheets and muffled underneath, tucking herself in, a sudden wave of chills designating onto her skin. Her eyelids appeared to be closing on their own, as she had missed a day of sleep.

But as soon as her vision became black, Dafne flinched; the horrible image of her aunt's corpse haunted her. The woman's blood spurted all over, showering Dafne, making her shiver, wince, scream.

She would gaze down at her hands; blood. Her surroundings; bloody. Her vision; blood-red.

In one moment, Dafne was unsure whether she was dreaming or was she still awake. All she saw was blood. She could feel her heartbeat become shallow, as her breath fearfully shook.

'_Il segreto_,' Bianca's voice shrieked in her head.

In one moment, she could feel something in her palm; as she spread her fingers to see, Dafne's jaw dropped. A heart was beating sharply against the muscles of her hand, burning off her skin with each new beat. She could feel her very bones shake in a perplexing agony of pain both physical and spiritual.

More than anything, Dafne wished to shout at the top of her lungs, but her throat would not cooperate with her will. She stood in silence, as the heart proceeded beating slower and slower. Soon, or after a long time, Dafne found it hard to determine, the beats could be barely felt. In a flash, the heart stopped, and after a moment, exploded, showering everything in blood, even Dafne herself.

At this point, sustaining an exclaim was impossible.

"-ignorina! Wake up!" a female voice cried, it seemed to Dafne, from far away, as her breath left her mouth in the form of a scream.

"Signorina!" the voice called again, but Dafne could not stop herself.

"Move!" a now familiar male voice ordered, and a few seconds after, Dafne felt strong hands on her shoulders shake her, grasp her chin, slightly bump her cheeks.

Realizing who it was, Dafne silenced, opening her eyes; the navy stare impaled her from above, a bit flustered.

"What is the matter with you, ragazza? A bad dream?" Cesare questioned, his tender tone severely adorned with suppressed dissatisfaction.

Taking her time to sit up, Dafne winced, finally managing to find the words.

"Si, l'incubo. My aunt...Her blood. It haunts me. Her heart beats in my hand, then stops and perishes in an explosion, bathing everything in more blood. I screamed. I cannot bear the blood."

Cesare listened, biting his lip in frustration. How was he to train a traumatized warrior?

"Guarda, you have to relax. Don't bother yourself with it, rid your mind of such things; they will only slow you down," he said, hoping to comfort Dafne as fast as possible. But the Florentine still appeared highly upset. She winced and flinched in desperation, as she strived to calm herself down with evening her breath.

"Non é facile. It is the first time I had killed," she murmured, using the seam of the sheet to wipe off some sweat from her forehead.

Cesare sprang up from the bed, throwing a somewhat arrogant glance at Dafne.

"As I said, rid yourself of such thoughts. I expect to see you down at the training grounds shortly. I want to examine your current skill. I have provided you the working clothes. Immediately dress up and come down."

With that said, he left Dafne to sob alone in her room.

* * *

She ran down the stairs, the new garments making her feel like a ragdoll rather than a human being. Perhaps she'd been wearing dresses for far too long.

"Merda," Dafne muttered under her breath, the tightness of the collar giving her a headache.

Nevertheless, she rushed outside, into the eastern courtyard of the Castello. The Castel bridge was clearly visible and the rock fence was the only thing that kept the building apart from the Tiber.

Dafne inspected the training ground; guards clashed against one another in their armor, mercilessly slashing their opponent given the chance. Several dummies were positioned at the far end of the courtyard.

"Ah, she finally decides to bless us with her presence! _Salve_!"

Dafne slightly chuckled at Cesare's sarcastic greeting.

"Scusatemi," she answered, politely bowing as he walked up to her.

"It is tolerable for today, you are a beginner. But tardiness will not be allowed from this point on, capisci?" Cesare declared ceremonially, as Dafne nodded. She watched his tender smile fade as he turned his back to her and walked over to the combating guards. The Florentine found herself examining his ruthlessness once again; he was in her room, he heard her scream, saw her body flail and shake, and yet, he acted as though he witnessed nothing.

Cesare interrupted one battling pair and took their swords.

"Va bene," he murmured as Dafne got closer. He threw one of the blades to her, and she swiftly caught it, helplessly smiling at it. "Come now, ragazza. Show me what you know."

It was needless of Cesare to say it twice; with the judging eyes of soldiers piercing her from every direction, Dafne charged, all of her knowledge from Firenze suddenly returning.

She attacked straight onward, so it wasn't difficult for Cesare to counter. They impaled each other's orbs, trying to fend off. As Dafne pressed on, Cesare took a step back and attempted to slice, but she was quick enough to evade. Her next attack was from the side, and as Cesare countered, Dafne retreated, going to slash the front again.

Cesare snickered. He swiftly dodged, kicking Dafne away. Trembling, she took a few steps back, but kept her balance. She quickly took a fighting stance, now waiting for Cesare to strike.

And so he did; only this time, Dafne used a trick. As she countered, she ducked underneath Cesare's attacking arm, stepped over to his back and pushed him forward with her free hand.

This earned the Florentine a few sympathetic laughs from the audience. Cesare had turned to face her, anger reflecting in his blue eyes.

"You appear to be a sore loser, Signor Cesare," Dafne teased, aware that what awaited her next was not going to be pleasant.

Cesare, however, responded with a smile. This time, he attacked Dafne strongly from above, multiple times, and just when the female started focusing on the upper blows, he used his empty hand to elbow her in the belly, thus throwing her off her feet. Dafne fell, her sword leaving her grip and with Cesare's blade pointed at her chest.

She watched him strangle a triumphant smirk.

"It is because I never lose," Cesare uttered loud and clear, as Dafne heavily breathed towards the peak of his sword.

"Not too shabby, I ought to be honest. You possess potential, talent, but those are nothing without proper training."

As Cesare spoke, the guards clapped in admiration. He offered her a helping hand, and Dafne accepted it, feeling her stomach throb as she stood up.

"Si."

Now back on solid ground and with her sword in hand, Dafne huffed, fixing her hair and groaning, trying to reduce the grip off her collar. She gazed over at Cesare, who appeared thoughtful before speaking up again.

"I am busy for the rest of the day. Seek Micheletto should you find yourself in need of anything."

As Cesare turned to leave, Dafne let out a slight moan.

"Signore..."

He looked back at her inquiringly. Dafne hesitantly bit her lip.

"Will you train with me tomorrow as well?"

Cesare snickered at her, as he nonchalantly waved his long finger towards her.

"I'm afraid I won't. I am a bit busy with some _preparations_ these days. You'll be on your own for a short while, ragazza. But don't worry, I will return."

With that said, he exited the courtyard, leaving Dafne surrounded by the giant guards.

* * *

_"August 4th, 1492, Roma_  
_ I adapted myself pretty well in the life here. I visit the training grounds every day, sometimes he joins me, sometimes he does not. As days passed by, his family was bound to take notice of me; well, his sister, Donna Lucrezia. A typical, spoiled noblewoman, with the manners of a medieval princess and the attention span of a butterfly. Upon seeing me with him, she questioned him of me multiple times, as if she was troubled by my presence with her brother. It was quite strange, but I could not complain nevertheless._  
_ Today, I am promised a special lesson in the use of the Crossbow, which excites me greatly. I have levered my skill with the blade a bit, so it is only a matter of time when will I be obligated to put these abilities into use._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_"August 11th, 1492, Roma_  
_ He is urging me to hurry up with my training, that the time is coming. My mind empties and my vision is blurred; when will I kill again? Will it haunt me as much as it did before? Will I sustain the pain? I've a feeling that the answers'll soon be revealed._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_"August 13th, 1492, Roma_  
_ He entered my room with a restless step today, he was more nervous than usual. As I dressed, he spoke of a task, my first real mission in his service. I knew I mustn't fail him. He gave me a name: Marco Sapperini, a local book keeper of suspicious activity, and asked for his blood on my blade by sunset. I knew I had no choice._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_ "August 15th, 1492, Roma_  
_ My next target, Fabioletto Distrio, the owner of a popular tavern in the center of the city. He has spoken of the rebellious Assassin group to me again; they are a threat to his father. I feel his voice is paranoid, restless. He wants to ridden himself of any potential doubts. I suspect I will be quite busy in the following months._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_ "August 18th, 1492, Roma_  
_ I dream of blood. A few sleepless nights had passed, and he already rushes back into my room with another order. Maladetto Pollana, another wealthy noble his troubled eye was laid upon. I know the men I've killed were all innocent, but I cannot go against his will. I owe him my salvation, my new life. Still, something feels grievously wrong about our cause._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_ August 23rd, 1492, Roma_  
_ A peaceful week had almost passed (I had used it up for training mostly) and he comes with another task for me. My fourth victim, Dante Opanzza, a former Cardinal, is spreading bad word of the Pope, his purpose being to raise a riot in the city. Although he has quite a few followers even though he had started mere weeks ago, its best to cut the problem down while its still just a scratch, else it'll grow into a bleeding infection. _  
_ My blade itches as I approach the priest's house. By all means, I must avoid spilling too much blood._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_ "November 30th, 1492, Roma_  
_ He orders me to travel to the Campagna and search for the notorious gang by the name of Cento Occhi. He says they have done him a few favors in the past, and gives me a chest full of offers, tips and allowances, as well as the Pope's seal, with their aid in return. As I examine the red seal I had been given as well, I cannot help but ask myself if they will turn out as cheap as I was._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_ "January 3rd, 1493, Roma_  
_ Target number forty-eight: Taverio Zutto. I feel no remorse nor guilty when I write down these names; it has become my daily routine, and surprisingly, it is sort of amusing. Since I've started working along with Micheletto, my job has become easier than ever. And thus, I've gotten to know the man better, befriended him. We often go for a drink at local taverns, conversing about our interests and opinions. Micheletto often speaks of him, how he admires him, how he had never anticipated such a master. He praises my technique with the Crossbow and blade, and I praise his strangling one. What a life I have come to lead._  
_ D.V"_

* * *

_ "September 9th, 1493, Roma_  
_ It has been over a year. The most eventful months of my whole life, and to think that it was just the beginning, I could not help but gasp. Time marches on. He speaks his father will name him a General in a few days. But after that, the play begins._  
_ D.V"_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Another one! Was somewhat awkward writing this one. The title holds a double meaning, as Cesare's relationships with both of his siblings are described, therefore, the title is both literal and sarcastic. And yay for drunk Dafne! xD Nevertheless, I hope you like it! Thanks for all the lovely feedback up until now, I appreciate it greatly. Especially Phantom Nini, your reviews brighten my day! :)**

**Notice - phrases written in (eeeh) Italian:**

_Che bastardo! - That bastard!/What bastard!_

_Ragazza - girl_

_Amico - friend_

_Cazzo! - Fuck!/Damn!_

_Stronzzo - asshole/idiot_

_Senti - Listen_

_Troia - bitch/whore_

_Sorella - sister_

_Fratello - brother_

_Caro - dear_

_Niente - nothing_

_Bella - nice/beautiful_

_Buongiorno - Hello/Good day_

_Si - yes_

_Certo - Of course_

_Nome - name_

_Cognome - surname_

_Venti quattro - twenty four_

_Che? - What?_

_Bene - good/very well_

_Pezzo di merda - piece of shit/crap_

_Ti prego! - Please!_

_Tu lo sai - You know/Y'know_

* * *

**6. Sibling Love**

**~ Rome, 1493 ~**

Cesare ran through the halls of the Castello, utterly agitated and avoiding contact with anybody, as Dafne followed him, carrying his Cardinal hat in hand, which he had thrown away earlier.

Upon finally reaching his quarters, Cesare slammed the door behind, almost hitting Dafne with it. But a year of killing and working in the shadows does give you some reflexes.

"Curses!" the young man exclaimed, crashing down into an armchair, furiously impaling the scrap of paper that rested on his desk. He grabbed it and mercilessly tore it apart, scattering its leftovers all around the floor.

"I cannot believe it! Che bastardo, how could he?! I am the Captain General! It was supposed to be _ME_!" Cesare helplessly screamed, burying his nails into the armchair sides.

Dafne sighed once he had silenced, placing the hat on the desk and approaching Cesare cautiously. He glared at her, as if she was the one who ruined his plans. He angrily grasped the piece of his red Cardinal tunic, wishing to tear it off.

"Why are you so flustered about it?" Dafne questioned before he could do it. Cesare appeared startled.

"Do you not see for yourself, ragazza?! He had given to Juan what is rightfully _MINE_! Now all of my plans may be laid to waste!" he replied, clenching his fists as he spoke aloud what stabbed his soul with the heaviness of an ax.

But before Dafne could propose anything, Micheletto had wandered into the room.

"Ah, amico, it's good that you have come!" the Florentine tapped his shoulder, and he smiled slightly in response.

"How could I not, with our Master witnessing the most ugly crisis?" Cesare gave Micheletto a death glare, as his head fell into his hand.

"These are unnecessary complications...I had asked the old fool to change his mind, but he loves his favorite little pet too much! Ah, cazzo!" the vein on Cesare's forehead pulsated in a fast pace, as his navy eyes shifted. Though it was obvious he did not plan on giving up any time soon. And Micheletto and Dafne knew him well enough to already be aware of that.

"We must act fast. What to you imply, Signor?" Dafne asked on both her's and Micheletto's behalf, but Cesare did not reply. His stare was misty, lost out the window, into the endless blue.

"You are dismissed."

Dafne's lips parted in an attempt to protest, but Micheletto had elbowed her from the side, urging her to keep silent.

Without any further choice, the pair turned to obey.

"And Micheletto..." Cesare would add after a few moments, "Bring me my sister."

Silent, the night-haired man bowed, as he and Dafne went out into the corridor, closing the door.

"What's the matter with him and Lucrezia?" the Florentine tried not to sound suspicious, but failed nonetheless.

"It is not ours to question, but...I do think they share a higher sort of relationship," somewhat annoyed by the question, Micheletto blithered out, running up around a corner, leaving Dafne to dwell back into her own room alone.

* * *

She put on her tunic, gracefully tying up her sash and masking her face with a scarf. As she attached her sword and knife, Cesare's latest orders echoed throughout her brain. Her task was clear.

Dafne exited the room, stopping only to close the door before she would take her leave. Holding her head low, her mind became voided, absent. She would usually feel nervous before missions, but this one was of an entirely different sort.

Sighing, Dafne fastened her step, gazing at the red carpet below. It gave her shivers, like she's walking on-

"Ah! Watch where you're going, stronzzo!"

The voice was, unfortunately, familiar to the Florentine.

"Forgive me, Donna Lucrezia."

The blond nonchalantly raised her nose, throwing on a conceited smile.

"Why are you dressed like that? Did Cesare finally decide to listen to reason and turn you into a clown?" Lucrezia spoke slowly, enjoying each of her words with sick pleasure.

Dafne was silent. She knew it wasn't over yet.

Fixing her hairstyle, Lucrezia giggled as she spread up her arm, softly continuing her malicious pack of insults.

"You know, I had been telling him you are suited for the job the whole year. Your appearance is perfect, and, frankly put, I have an eye for these things. Do you not agree..."

Dafne suddenly felt Lucrezia's hand surrounding her neck, pulling down her scarf.

"..._Vespucci_?"

Dafne's chin was pulled up; she forcefully impaled Lucrezia's sky-blue orbs with her green ones, unsure what angered her more, this treatment, or her surname.

The Florentine gritted her teeth behind closed mouth, eager to endure Lucrezia's musings.

"Quite silent, are we?" the blond questioned tenderly, breathing into Dafne's cheeks, "How insolent for a little worm."

Dafne bit her lip, praying for patience, as Lucrezia giggled again.

"I had heard of your family in Firenze. Your sister had quite a few affairs with an Assassino...Did she not?"

Dafne blinked; the accusation she just heard made her blood boil.

"Ezio Auditore. Do correct me if I'm wrong, which I doubt. I was bound to remember it. Papa would not quit speaking of the man constantly ruining his plans. Another annoying little worm. Matches good with your sister, no? Would you like to get yourself one, too?"

At this point, Dafne's hand had already reached the knife, as her lower lip harshly stung from the pain inflicted by her teeth. Lucrezia laughed sardonically as she leaned closer to Dafne's face.

"Senti,_ troia_," she hissed through a smirk, "If you even _dare_ think of rebelling against my family, or my brother at that matter, I will find you and choke you with my own hands, then hang your corpse from the highest tower of the Castello for all of Roma to see!"

Dafne's breathing stopped. She held her breath in, her fingers lurking around the knife's blade, prepared to stab it straight into Lucrezia's heart. Which she had already done multiple times in her imagination.

"Just as the Assassino did to Francesco de Pazzi. You will achieve the same destiny. You will die like a dog under my feet, you will beg for your life, _squirm_, _cry_, _bleed_-"

"Sorella!"

Dafne barely managed to stop her armed hand as she heard his voice, his steps approaching them with great speed.

"What is the meaning of this? What are you doing?"

Lucrezia released Dafne, turning to face Cesare as the Florentine tried to sheathe her knife unseen.

"Oh, fratello caro, niente! We were just having a...Pleasant, friendly little chat. Isn't that so, _Dafne_?"

Even though she glared at Lucrezia with more than a death wish, Dafne politely nodded at Cesare. She observed him place his hands on the blond's hips, coldly staring towards Dafne herself.

"Si. Excuse me now, Signor, _bella_ Donna, but I have a task that is indeed in great need of my attention. I bid you farewell."

The Florentine bowed as she walked past the couple, uncertain whether the wet noises she heard a few seconds after would represent kissing.

* * *

"Buongiorno."

The judging stare of the dark-haired Courtesan indicated her attention was won.

"Si? What do you want?" she questioned back, as Dafne's eyes needed a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light as she entered the building.

"I have a special request for...Madame Solari," Dafne recalled the owner's name as she removed her mask again.

"_I am_ Madame Solari. Speak up!" the woman crossed her arms impatiently, urging Dafne to continue.

Remaining startled by the Courtesan's arrogance for a moment, the Florentine sighed, gathering the now fairly familiar Pope's seal and bringing it up to the Madam's nose.

"By the order of the court of the Borgia, I am obligated to examine your working force, each girl, no exceptions. Acceptance is due with a valuable reward."

As she pulled out a small, carefully tied bag brimming with florins, Dafne observed the Courtesan's eyes widen and her tongue flicker hungrily around her lips.

"Oh, certo, certo, you have my permission," the Madam murmured crisply, signifying Dafne to follow her. She lead her into a dimly lit back room, leaving the Florentine alone for a few minutes. She returned in the company of more than forty girls, all young, beautifully dressed and flourishing. There was barely emough free space left in the stifling room after their arrival.

"You may begin," the Madame declared, as Dafne groaned inwardly, trying to measure how much time will this task steal from her. An hour, maybe two? Perhaps five?

It was, nonetheless, time to find out.

* * *

"Next!"

Dafne yawned as she got another empty piece of paper in front of herself, trying to keep her sanity. It had been over four hours, and the last Courtesan for the day took her seat, ready to be interviewed as all of those before her.

Dafne rubbed her forehead as she began with the same inquiries she'd been repeating, it seemed to her, for an eternity.

"Nome?"

"Fiore."

"Cognome?"

"Cavazza."

"Age?"

"Venti quattro."

"Years of service?"

"Two."

"Number of clients?"

A hysterical snort escaped the Courtesan's lips.

"You expect me to _count_?"

"Some of your colleagues did," another yawn came out Dafne's mouth as Fiore watched her in slight disbelief.

"Well, why does it concern you anyway?" Fiore asked, crossing her arms.

"Perhaps you earn a chance to learn that. Your clients are usually...?" Dafne swiftly avoided the question as she quickly wrote down the information. The Courtesan knitted her brows suspiciously.

"Noblemen, marchants and city Officials alike," she replied, her coal hair wavering as she proudly brought her nose up. Dafne wrote.

"I presume you are searching for a girl good enough for a certain 'special task', hm?" Fiore threw on an amused smile, therefore making Dafne glare at her.

"So you are experienced in those kinds of things then?"

The Courtesan darkly laughed.

"I _grew up_ on those things. The street is my secondary home. I joined this sorry lot of peasants out of boredom, in hope I would fill my bag with a greater number of florins."

Fiore's voice mercilessly tore its way to Dafne's ears, notorious and almost insolent. The Florentine realized how ruthless the girl thought herself, her corrupt nature revealed straight away.

Dafne couldn't be more satisfied with Fiore.

Watching her interrogator smile pleasantly, the Courtesan had been rendered befuddled.

"Che?" she asked. But instead of answering, Dafne politely offered her a hand, and as Fiore accepted, shook it.

"Do not leave the brothel in the next couple of weeks. You won't regret it."

* * *

Dafne rushed up the stairs and through the wide corridor, eager to let her master know of the good news she bears for him. She assumed she would find him lying about in his personal quarters. And she wasn't mistaken.

"Signor! Signor!"

Cesare looked up from his armchair, expression calm and lips crude.

Dafne made a small smile.

"Signor, I had found what you requested! She goes by the name of Fiore Cavazza. She had had experience in this job before, and had been working in the Rosa In Fiore for the past two years. She is used to seducing noblemen, which also gives us an advantage," Dafne placed the paper revealing the data of the Courtesan in question, as Cesare leaned over to read.

The Florentine gulped in anticipation, waiting to hear his judgment.

"Yes, this pleases me. You have done well, ragazza," Cesare murmured, as a smirk broadened on his face. Dafne nodded.

"It is my duty to serve you, Signor," she declared ceremonially, raising her finger to highlight the meaning of her sentence.

Silence resented, before Cesare would break it again.

"Lucrezia, what did she speak of to you earlier today?"

Dafne's happiness faded upon hearing the question.

"Nothing...Nothing important," she lied. She didn't have any other choice.

Cesare stood up from his armchair.

"Had our meeting from over a year ago taught you nothing at all, ragazza? Had you not grown up since then, even in the slightest?" he sought question after question, disapproval reflecting in his navy orbs. Dafne gulped.

"What had I told you back then? _No lies_. Will I live long enough to see you finally obey to that order of mine?" Cesare scolded, crossing his arms impatiently, "How do you expect me to trust you?"

Dafne winced; she hated her loyalties being questioned, especially if she knew them clearly enough. This day, she later figured, was a true carnage for her mind.

"Signor, I beg of you, I speak veritably when I am required to. I did not think it necessary to-"

"Everything is necessary. _Everything_, ragazza."

Dafne lowered her head in defeat as Cesare cut her off. She could not argue.

"Bene. Whatever you say, Signor."

"Now, will you enlighten me with a decent answer to my inquiry or not?"

The Florentine watched him turn his back to her, as she anxiously placed her hands on her lower back, intertwining her fingers harshly.

"Si, Signor."

* * *

"And what did he say?"

Dafne carelessly took another long sip from her cup, though still sober enough to reply Micheletto.

"Ah, he said it was preposterous! He cannot imagine his baby sister saying such bullcrap! But then he suddenly gets into my face and starts asking me about the Assassino. Am I obligated to know each pezzo di merda my sister sets her eye upon? Thus, she's married to a different man, some Manfredo, and she used to be involved with that Assassino before I even took my first breath in this godforsaken world!" she half-hiccuped, half-yelled, easily attracting unwanted attention of the guests around the tavern.

As she raised her hand to order another round, Micheletto grasped it, as such preventing Dafne from speaking further.

"I think that's quite enough beer for you. I regret bringing you here in the first place."

He stood up, expecting her to immediately follow, but to his surprise, she laughed wholeheartedly.

"Ma, amico, this beverage is utterly delightful, I swear it! Can't I have a little more? Just a small sip? _Ti preeegoo_!"

Micheletto sighed towards Dafne's drunken plea.

"Not a cup more," he announced, grasping the female's arm and pulling it up. Chuckling, she clung onto his shoulder, thus forcing him to drag her along as they walked.

"Alcohol does really not suit you," Micheletto whispered close to her ear, as she continued laughing.

"That's what Cesare says as well! Tu lo sai," as soon as he heard the phrase, Micheletto knew he had to arm himself with patience, "I really want to kiss that man. _Badly_. And feel his touch on my-"

"I don't want to know!" he barked, making the girl pleasantly snicker again.

"But it's true! And Cesare says," Dafne inhaled for a moment, attempting to imitate the young Borgia's voice, "_speak veritably, or not at all, ragazza_!"

Micheletto couldn't help but tenderly chuckle at that himself.

"Yes. He does not bear being fooled," the dark-haired man confessed.

Micheletto and Dafne continued conversing until they'd reached the Castel, amusing the guarding soldiers as they moved over the bridge.

Climbing up to her personal quarters, the Florentine figured she should ask something.

"Say, when does Cesare plan on murdering Juan anyway? Don't tell me that I lived through four hours of pure hell for nothin'!"

Turning around to check if they were alone, Micheletto nodded, licking his lips before he would answer.

"It'll be held next week. Cesare had already spoken with Fiore, and determined the contract with her. I will inform you as soon as it's done."

As she observed Micheletto leave, Dafne frowned, another fit of pointless laughter helplessly escaping her lips. Cesare's name lingered in her mind as she slowly stripped off her clothes.

* * *

_"October 5th, 1493, Roma_  
_Micheletto tells me of the majestic play that was Juan's death. Fiore crawling up onto him, her traitorous hand taking his life, while Cesare simply stands beside and enjoys the spiteful sight with all the passion in the world, his ruthlessness as severe as ever. I suspect His Holiness will not have any other choice but to elect his now only male child as the Captain General. Everything seems to be falling into place._  
_And also, I should stay away from wine and beer for the rest of my life. Micheletto says I blither nonsense. Ah, the headaches..._  
_D.V"_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: One more! I like using Italian throughout this, I think it makes it cooler, do correct me if I'm wrong, especially when it comes to phrases that are cool in English alone, much less in l'Italiano. :D Anyway, here, we swim into what Dafne and Micheletto busy themselves with as Cesare takes his leave for Romagna. By the way, I hate Heralds. Also no journal entries, so journal entry haters, WOOT! Now go read, shoo!**

**Notice - phrases written in (oh, yeah) Italian:**

_Avanti! - Forward!_

_Salve! - Hello!/Hi!_

_Amico - friend_

_Dai! - Come on!_

_Si - yes_

_Che cosa è questo? - What is this?_

_Amici - friends_

_Attenzione! - Attention!_

_Schifezza - filth_

_Ascolta! - Listen!_

_Buffone - fool/idiot/moron_

_Distretto - district_

_Nemici - enemies_

_Forse - maybe/perhaps/probably_

_Parla! - Speak!_

_Cane - dog/mutt_

_Nulla è reale, tutto è lecito. - Nothing is true, everything is permitted._

_Leggi! - Read!_

_Dio - God_

_Cazzo! - Damn!/Fuck!_

* * *

**7. For The Order**

**~ Rome, 1494 ~**

Dafne wondered around her room without a true purpose. She felt dizzy, her head spinning as she took step after step, circling pointlessly.

It was like this whenever she'd been free, she figured. When she was allowed to use her own free will, no orders. Had she grown addicted to her job? Does she actually feel the need to stain her soul with more spilled blood?

Questions seemed to arouse like grass. Dafne grasped her forehead and sat down on her bed, attempting to comprehend herself and calm down.

The first thought that came to mind was Cesare. Dafne pondered, realizing that he had been gone for more than two weeks now. He'd finally earned the chance to breathe life into his plans. As the Captain General of the Pope's personal guard, he lead his forces into Romagna.

It was only natural to begin there, Dafne concluded.

Yet, she worried for her master's life; after he was given his prestigious title, Cesare surrounded himself with three men: Ramiro d'Orco, Oliverotto da Fermo and Vitellozzo Vitelli. Together with Cesare himself, they commanded the army and acted as advisors to the young General. They were three capable men, with questionable motives and uncertain loyalty. If even one was to rebel, the whole plan risked falling into ruin.

Dafne bit her lip; those were not matters for her to dwell on. Although she begged to come along with him, he had left her behind with a purpose; to take care of Roma during his absence. Those were her orders, she figured. And she followed them without a single fault.

The only problem was that there were no problems at the given moment.

Ironic as it was, Dafne felt bored without being able to do tasks. She missed them. She had not put a single soul to rest since Juan's death. She did not harm, she did not wrought blood from the rotting flesh.

Blood. In all honesty, she didn't miss that one bit. But blood was simply a part of her job, and she could not decline it its appearance and cause.

Pouting, Dafne flinched, startled by the sudden knock on the door.

"Avanti!" she spoke, urging the person to come in.

"Salve," Micheletto greeted, as Dafne stood up to embrace him.

"Amico! It is great to see you!" she proclaimed.

"Likewise," returning the embrace, Micheletto nodded. In his hands, Dafne noticed he held a piece of parchment, stamped with the red, by now well-known seal of the Borgia.

"What is that?" she inquired, her brow raised as she gestured towards the letter.

Micheletto smiled.

"Cesare's report from Romagna. It arrived about an hour ago, but I had not opened it yet, since I wanted you to hear it as well," he explained, earning an excited smirk from Dafne.

"You are most kind," she praised, barking, "Dai, let's read it!"

"Si," with a low chuckle, Micheletto carefully broke the seal, gracefully revealing the hidden contains of the parchment.

The writing was hasty and little was thought of it being readable. Clearing his throat, with Dafne clinging onto his shoulder, Micheletto began reading out loud:

_"I send word of my conquers to you, with a request to keep it to yourself strictly. Romagna is as beautiful as my memory provides me, and I enjoy as it clutches under my feet. I hope I will soon be able to entitle myself as its new leader._

_May The Father Of Understanding Guide You,_

_-C."_

A red cross was embroidered deeply into the parchment, still as Dafne curiously studied it.

"Che cosa è questo?" she inquired, motioning towards it. Micheletto observed her bluntly before he replied.

"The sign of our Order, of course," Dafne took in the answer, as she inspected the cross further, snorting.

"Not very original, I would tell," she observed.

Micheletto didn't reply. He carefully folded the letter as he found it, and hid it into the confines of his shirt.

"Ah, fine, I'm sorry. Stop being so serious," Dafne elbowed him gently, as a smirk broadened on her face, not ceasing to amuse Micheletto.

"As Cesare sacrifices himself for the goals of our Order and mankind itself, I ought to stay on my guard, mind you," he peered back coldly, making Dafne's smile fade and become a frown.

Without uttering anything further, the man exited the room, leaving the Florentine in maddening silence of her own heavy thoughts.

And she was not to blame for such silence; many things occurred to her as she returned to her activity from before, pointlessly strolling around her own quarters. The pain in the back of her head was unnerving, peering down her patience like a cook peers the skin from an apple.

An apple...

* * *

"O noble citizens of Rome, praised be thy God for blessing you with the sacred ability of hearing, for I preach of justice and the laws of righteousness when these words leave my throat! All men and women, brothers and sisters, parents and children, listen to what this humble Herald has to offer!"

Dafne's eyes narrowed as she passed by the gathering mass of people, as the speech's conductor advanced forward.

"May the Lord Himself be my witness, for I preach the truth and truth alone! The Borgia are to be responsible for all of our dooms! It's their burden to bear for demolishing our city and bringing us all calamity! The Pope is the follower of the sardonic ways of Satan, and his son the devil himself! Instead of giving us what we deserve, helping us grow and restore our city to its former glory, he ravages into the territory of Romagna, his poverty and lust for power overwhelming him, as the Pope pushes him with a strong hand!"

Dafne bit her lip, unsheathing her knife as she approached the yelling figure. Scurrying carefully through the pile of citizens, whispers inevitably reached her ears. Whispers she was not willing to listen to.

"If we are to live our lives in prosperity and peace, if we are to continue on as we are worthy, o Rome, unite against the Lucifer and take back what is, by all means, yours!"

"And who are you to judge the actions of men of whom's causes you know nothing?" Dafne could no longer stray, her voice muffled up behind the scarf she had pulled on a moment ago.

The people silenced within moments, focusing onto the female, procuring the incoming predicament.

The Herald scoffed.

"Ah, here it is, amici! Another of the Borgia's bootlicking dogs! Attenzione, attenzione! You will not find a more brainwashed subject, not even among the most eager of heretics!" he countered, boldly stepping down from his wooden post as he confronted the Florentine.

She knitted her brows as she sighed, slipping the knife underneath her emerald tunic.

"Why is it that you spill such disgraceful insults? Why do you peck insolence where it is not a necessity? The people do not deserve to listen to your schifezza," Dafne commented, as calm as could be, as she watched the man's features yank unnaturally as he feigned surprise.

"_Insolence_?! I merely sought the facts of currency! You and your pathetic little master steal away the delights of life from these good people, you refuse them their right to enjoy the small time they conceive to spend on the earth's surface. Wretched monsters!" the Herald computed, shouting at the top of his lungs, ceremonially intruding his words into Dafne's ears.

This seemed to somewhat trigger the audience, who had started to insinuate uncertain whispers again, eyeing the Florentine with disapproval shining in their judging glances.

Although the maiden had not flinched nor whimpered under the solid pressure that came from both sides, she bit her lip in an attempt to prevent herself from treading out her knife just yet.

"Ascolta, _buffone_," she began, urging a raised brow from the opponent, "If you mean to keep on insulting what is to serve a higher purpose with such mockery and pure ungratefulness, I assure you that I myself with see to it that your end is bitter."

An awkward silence was prone to come after these words, and although Dafne could sense she had not won the affection of the citizens, the Herald, however, gulped anxiously as he pondered a reply.

And was left without one.

"That's better," Dafne complied, as she reached out for a bag of florins from within her clothing.

"Take this," she uttered, throwing it off to the man, "Buy yourself some food. And while you're at it, the foothold of Romagna falls beneath my master's feet as we speak. Do give him some credit. _Else_..."

The Herald unwillingly shuddered, lowering his head in defeat as a gesture that it'll be as she pleases.

And as Dafne walked away with a satisfied smirk under her scarf, she thanked God for blessing humanity with corruption, as the announcements of newly-appointed bankers and Officials raced out of the Herald's mouth, echoing throughout the small Forum.

* * *

Cynical enough to realize that there is more to subduing than praise and money, Dafne pierced the merchant with a great amount of an even mixture between annoyance and sympathy.

"_Amico_," she began again, a calming breath fluttering out of her lips as she paused, "You are quite influential in this part of the distretto and I am sure you yourself are aware of that. Therefore, why not comply to my offer? You bargain, yes, not to lose, but to _gain_."

The man restlessly skimmed through a pile of documents that sat on his desk, his black orbs fixated onto her verdant ones. The obesity of his features narrowed firmly as he was deeply lost in thought, finally replying after a minute of such silence.

"But don't I put my head straight on the blade of your nemici should I give my acceptance?" his question was sound, Dafne sought, as she swiveled her head from side to side, in a manner like she's inspecting the environment for any unwanted guests.

"Forse. But with treasure comes protection, too."

This rather intimidated the merchant.

"Is that quite so?" he asked, as Dafne pulled out the Borgia symbol and placed it on the wooden surface for him to see.

"You have my word," she uttered, finally ceasing to ensure the man of her intentions.

A few minutes later, Dafne was already strolling down the street, with another successful bribe behind her.

* * *

She hushed, attempting to crawl forward as she loaded her Crossbow. One look into the blind street on the opposite side of the building to exchange glances with Micheletto, and Dafne was certain she was ready for anything.

Bathed into the dying light of the evening sun, the Florentine felt fragile as the wind ruffled the spurting locks of her cinnamon hair. Her verdant eyes studied the emptied street below, as she worriedly frowned at the silence.

Or was she to enjoy the silence while it was there? For once it is gone, there are no mistakes allowed in the game of survival.

Some dust flew right in front of her eyes, touching her eyelashes and blinding her for the slightest of seconds. Just what the Assassin needed.

If it wasn't for the two years experience she possessed, Dafne would be lying dead, her head adorned with a carefully thrown dagger. She felt it pass a mere inch away from her cheek, as a droplet of sweat descended down her forehead.

Grabbing her Crossbow, Dafne fired, in hopes her blunt aim would do the trick. The Assassin, however, appeared more skilled than she accounted.

Now fully focused onto the air nemesis, the Assassin pulled out another knife, boldly throwing it towards the Florentine.

A barrel role to the right, and Dafne reloaded her Crossbow with another bolt, taking her aim more plainly this time. She clearly saw the hooded figure from below. The plan was unfolding brilliantly, she thought; she was to attract the fool's attention, while Micheletto waited hidden, his purpose being to strike the final blow.

Smiling, Dafne shot. Only this time, instead of a sharp thud to the ground, the bolt pierced its target.

Before the Assassin even fell to his knees, Micheletto had already done his magic; firmly grasping the man by the neck with his rope, he urged him to raise his head backwards, enforcing low moans of pain.

Dafne had to act quickly. She made her way down the building, gracefully landing next to the captor and the captured. Ducking down to the Assassin's level, she cupped his chin, bringing herself closer to his hooded face.

"Parla, cane!" she demanded, "Who leads you and where is his nest?"

She observed, carefully, with stunning interest; she observed the light leave the Assassin's eyes, observed his muscles wince and yank in agony, heard his breath weaken as his lips became a smile and parted into the last sentence he would ever utter into the air of the world:

"Nulla è reale, tutto è lecito."

The Assassin's head fell along with his hood, as Dafne could no longer feel strength in his jaw. Shrugging, she stood up, as Micheletto released the man from the grip of his rope. None would say a single word. And even wordless, they knew they were to retreat back to the Castello together.

* * *

Dafne stared out of the open window, the breeze piercing her face, making her more lost than she was with the passing moment.

She flinched as she heard steps enter the room.

"What news?" the question fluttered out of her lips, as Micheletto drew out a letter. The seal was already broken and the parchment unfolded.

"Not good, I'm afraid. Leggi."

Gasping, Dafne smuggled the paper out of Micheletto's palm, hastily rushing through its contents as her forehead became sweaty.

"Dio..." the Florentine muttered under her breath, as the letter left her hand. Among other things, it was said that one of the three Generals, Ramiro d'Orco, had turned a traitor against Cesare, and had lost his life for it, prompting the remaining two to quarrel with the Captain General, ultimately making the conquer of Romagna stagnate.

"Cazzo!" Dafne cursed, as Micheletto picked the fallen parchment up.

"I suspect we will be reuniting with him soon enough," he commented, suddenly making Dafne's features less furious. As bad as the turn of events was, she found herself rejoiced by Cesare's return.

Scolding at her own self inwardly, Dafne frowned, bluntly staring towards the peaceful floor beneath her, trying to clear her thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Everybody is happy, sha la la la. Especially me when I write lovey-dovey stuffs, kukuku~**

**Actually, no, lovey-dovey is awkward. Too awkward. I label it as awkwardness itself. And it requires me eating a crapload of chocolate and sugar whenever I have to write it. Meeeeh. Xp But anyway, hope you like this one (apologize for it being slightly shorter than the rest)! It's very much appreciated if you could read the title in the voice of Horatio Cane, that'd be swell, for both you and I. M'kay? BENE! BD Now shoo, read~!**

**P.S. The part where the Banker is mentioned throwing off gold into the Tiber I remember reading somewhere on the Assassin's Creed Wiki. However, when I wanted to confirm it before posting, I suddenly couldn't find the said fact anywhere, and therefore, I'm clinging onto solely my memory. You are free to sue me for any inconvenience. Or we just consider it as my own original idea? Whatever you like! ;D**

**Notice - phrases written in (uuuuh) l'Italiano:**

_Si - yes_

_Ragazza - girl_

_Ma certo! - Why of course!_

_Che? - What?_

_Mi scusi - Forgive me/I apologize_

_Ho un compito per te. - I've got a job for you._

_Magnifico! - Magnificent!_

_Armi - guns/weaponry_

_Intesi? - Understood?_

_Giorni - days_

_Francia - France_

* * *

**8. Guns And Money**

**~ Rome, 1494 ~**

Dafne ran into the courtyard, arousing the attention of the guarding soldiers.

"Signor!"

Cesare's eyes shifted, an unfinished sentence lingering on his lips as he turned from the man he'd been conversing with.

"Signor!" the Florentine repeated, barely managing to slow down without crashing straight into him.

Grunting, Cesare murmured an apology to the man, as he pushed Dafne a few steps back.

"What? What do you want?" he questioned impatiently, as his long, red cape proudly danced on the low breeze.  
Dafne blinked, her mind empty for a moment, before she would reply.

"Er, Messer Juan..." she began cautiously, motioning towards the Cardinal who stood not far from them.

"Yes, Micheletto had brought him to me not a minute ago. Anything else?" Cesare scoffed, prompting Dafne to nod in understanding.

"Si. Nothing else."

Watching him turn on his heel as they departed, the Florentine bit her lip uncertainly.

"Er..." she stuttered, unconsciously beginning to twiddle her thumbs as her whisper made its way to Cesare's ear.

Groaning, the young General faced her again.

"_What_?" he asked, glancing behind at the waiting Cardinal, as such urging Dafne to hurry.

"I, uh..." she stuttered further, her verdant orbs racing all around her sockets, as something tingled inside of her abdomen.

But seeing as Cesare was on the verge of bursting, she harshly pushed the words out of her throat.

"I...I've..."

"Yes?" Cesare asked, already despaired that Dafne would ever conclude what she wanted to utter.

Gathering all of the courage she had left inside, the Florentine managed to deliver, loud and clear, even more loud than she was supposed to, three words:

"I've missed you."

Even the Cardinal and the soldiers were able to hear this confession, as Cesare bluntly stared Dafne's way for a moment.

"...What?"

Gulping, the female's cheeks flushed red as she continued intertwining and groping her fingers.

As a fit of low snickers came within Cesare's earshot, he turned to glare at the laughing guard, and the latter shivered as if Cesare could kill him with his navy eyes alone.

And then he gazed back into Dafne.

"_Missed_ me?" he asked with cold simplicity adorning his tone. Slowly, the Florentine yanked her chin in an attempt to nod, but she was already at her sanity's limit the moment she confessed. She wished to melt into the ground with instance, as the sweet shame she felt ate her up on the inside.

Cesare gave her a raised brow.

"But why tell me that, ragazza? I am here now, so you miss me no more, si?" he uttered, earning another weak nod from Dafne.

"Er, right...Forgive me for mentioning..." she felt a strong urge to flee, and she listened to it, running as fast as her legs would allow. Left by himself, the Captain General cackled, going back to his own business.

"A sympathetic child," the Cardinal remarked, nonchalantly wavering his hand as his fat features followed his movement.

Cesare smiled.

"She was quite strange back when I found her...And remained so. Not that she is any less effectual when it comes to obeying orders," he explained. The other man paused to think, before proceeding.

"She is from Firenze, no? Same as the troublesome Assassino."

At this, however, Cesare darkened, his eyes filling with loathing.

"Could we please discuss the matters I had required you for?"

Chuckling, Juan Borgia Elder bowed.

"Ma certo, Messere mio."

* * *

"...Up! Wake up!"

Dafne groaned, forced out of the blissful black of her eyelids, with Micheletto's hand shaking her shoulder.

"Che?" she demanded more than asked, not hiding her dismay.

The latter seemed excited, so he simply indicated her to follow him, storming away from her bed.

Dafne yawned hopelessly, drowsily rubbing her eyes as she entered the corridor outside, limping her way over to Micheletto. She observed him stalk through the window; he didn't even blink, and his lungs seemed to have stopped doing their duty as he lifelessly stood, palms on the pane.

Her curiosity tickled, Dafne approached him warily, gazing over his shoulder outside.

A gasp fluttered out of her lips.

Lined up on the whole length of the Castel bridge, on each side, a hundred soldiers threw shining golden plates straight into the Tiber, not hesitating in their actions the slightest.

"Huh?"

"Shhh!" Micheletto silenced the Florentine, as they both proceeded watching the sight in pure awe.

A man in a Cardinal robe appeared on the far side of the bridge and walked between the two lines of soldiers, his step proud and confident. Dafne remembered him; Cesare's new Banker, Juan Borgia Elder, the one her and Micheletto introduced to the Captain General themselves.

But that didn't explain why the Tiber suddenly began glowing of gold than of its natural beauty.

"Will you tell me what the hell is going on?" Dafne's patience slowly faltered. Sighing, Micheletto shoved her from the window.

"You saw Juan?"

The Florentine nodded.

"It is his deed. From his own funds, he had organized the disposal of an incomprehensible amount of gold into the Tevere. Out of pure avarice and show, that is. The Pope's personal banker, Agostino Chigi, had done the same thing once as well, only he used silver."

Dafne yanked her jaw, unable to understand Micheletto's words for more than she would like to admit. The very concept of this act, so greedy, had managed to give her vertigo, much less it being inspired by a similar act from the near past. Nevertheless, she gazed down at the strange event a few more times, sighing helplessly in the end. It was not her duty to understand anyway.

"Si...I-I've some work to return to, mi scusi..." Dafne murmured as she walked away from Micheletto, urging her sanity to keep serving her well as a dull headache voided her mind.

* * *

"Come in."

Dafne carefully listened for approval, and as soon as she heard it, pulled the door open and stepped into his quarters.

"You, er, called for me, Signor."

Cesare's back was turned to her as she entered, and he seemingly had no intention of acknowledging her presence with more than just speech.

"Si," he began, inhaling deeply as he continued, "Ho un compito per te."

Dafne winced. This was something she hadn't heard for a long time.

"Oh, magnifico!" she replied immediately, much too excited to contain her feelings.

This made Cesare face her, with a raised brow. Gaining some color in her cheeks, the Florentine smiled slightly.

"I mean, it is an honor to be of use to you, Signor," she explained, merging her hands anxiously behind her back.  
Cesare nodded, seating himself down into his armchair.

"I want you to travel to Napoli and ensure that a shipment of newly crafted armi is delivered safely to Roma. This is a delicate mission, and I want it maneuvered perfectly. Intesi?"

As she gazed down at him, taking in his orders with care, Dafne whispered out a confirmation.

Cesare, therefore, proceeded further.

"Be quick about it, and don't stray from using additional coin if you must. Let nothing distract you and spare no time. I am counting on you."

His last sentence alone was enough to make Dafne jump into the abyss doubtless, much less anything else.

"I promise it'll be executed in the most suitable way possible," she declared, bowing as a few locks of her cinnamon hair clumsily descended down her face.

This earn her an amused chuckle from Cesare, who, nevertheless, went to conclude his orders.

"You will depart via carriage in a couple of giorni. Until then, do prepare yourself. Micheletto will not accompany you, and you'll be on your own."

Dafne nodded, assuming that the young General's will had been uttered. Not quite so.

"Also, ragazza," Cesare stood up, secretive as he approached the Florentine.

"Yes, Signor?" she questioned, throwing on a meek smile to hide her confusion. Cesare grinned; the same grin that he had given Dafne way back at the fateful celebration on which they had met.

It froze her, as the remembrance of that time lurked back in a sly manner.

Their stares met, as Dafne gulped and Cesare snickered tenderly.

"Do say, will you _miss me_ while you are gone in Napoli?" this inquiry had caught the Florentine completely off-guard. Breathing stopped in her throat as she struggled to stand still.

Getting closer and closer, Cesare prompted an answer with a low hum. Dafne had no other choice.

"I...I...P-Perhaps..."

An impatient grunt came from Cesare's behalf.

"_Yes or no_, ragazza?" he hissed, placing his hand on Dafne's shoulder.

Trembling under his touch, the Florentine swallowed up her dread, at least enough to reply steadily.

"Yes."

It was as though this was the kind of answer Cesare expected to hear. Chuckling, he cupped Dafne's chin with his long, slender fingers, forcing her to stare him directly in the eye.

Her jaw slightly dropping, Dafne knew she couldn't do anything but wait, allowing to be ensnared into Cesare's musings.

As she innocently bit her lip, she could feel his hand encircling her hip, diminishing the already little distance between them. In a flash, she felt lips of another plant onto her own. _His lips_.

Her eyes open wide, Dafne manically threw her hands onto Cesare's chest in an attempt to protest, but she couldn't even make him flinch. He was as stiff as a statue, and confident in what he did, that she had to give up her defenses and let him be.

After flickering his tongue around her strongly sealed mouth, Cesare finally gained entrance, as Dafne's body slightly fell back, her knees abandoning her for good. This urged Cesare to grasp her more firmly, holding her by her lower back now.

Shivering all over, Dafne stood helplessly, literally doing nothing, succumbing to the Captain General. She was frightened to even breathe as she felt him inside of her hot tavern. She was afraid to open her eyes.

Dafne was at a loss when it came to time. It was a bittersweet eternity, this exchange of lip gloss, as she began to lose herself to Cesare. She even made a small response with her own tongue, shyly approaching his. She felt him smile through the kiss once she had done this.

And finally, before their lips would part for good, Cesare ran his hand through her carefully tied braid, as such ruining it, but Dafne didn't mind too much.

As the Florentine desperately strived for air, she looked into Cesare's eyes one last time; and then, she would stutter a dense apology, limping her way out of his quarters, earning more tender snickers from her master.

* * *

_"May 7th, 1494, Napoli_  
_I had successfully arrived to my destination. I had heard great tales of this magnificent city, and could not help but steal a glance toward its beautiful castle and many other monuments, adorned with the same brilliance, as my guide yammered on and on about the shipment's origin. I had caught this much - that it was sent by a powerful nobleman from Francia, who fancies himself as Octavian de Valois._  
_In all honesty, the only thing that kept me patient was the magical feeling of his lips on mine, which he had gifted me before I took my leave. And in order to, hopefully, achieve it again, I had used up all the additional coin I managed to bring and quicken the whole procedure as much as possible._  
_Therefore, I suspect my return to Roma will occur soon enough._  
_D.V"_

* * *

_May 12th, 1494, Napoli_  
_They inform me that the carriage will be ready today at noon. I cannot hold my impatience as I order them forward. Soon, very soon..._  
_D.V"_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Numero nove! :3 A long chap, action-packed and all, to make up for its predecessor. It is, surely, the longest I have written so far regarding this story, and peoplez, I dun wanna jinx it, but I think I ACTUALLY MIGHT FINISH A GODDAMN MULTI-FIC ON THIS SITE! HOW 'BOUT THAT, EH?! *_***

***30 Seconds To Mars starts playing* _Such a beautiful liieeeee toooo belieeeve iiiin... _**

**Aaaaand featuring Messer Machiavelli this chap! I love that dude! Totally gonna write a separate ficlet for him in the future! ^^ Anyway, go read nao! :D**

**Notice - phrases written in (holy cazzo) Italian:**

_Si - yes_

_Il Lauro - The Laurel ('Dafne' also means laurel in Italian.)_

_Per favore! - Please!_

_Si, è vero. - Yes, it's true._

_Al tuo servizio. - At your service._

_Per i miei nemici e i stronzzi curiosi, si. - For my enemies and curious assholes, yes._

_D'accorddo! - Of course!_

_Non lasciate scappa! - Don't let her escape!_

_Presto! - Quickly!_

_Diavolo - devil_

_Pardonatemi! - Pardon me!/Excuse me!_

_Tutto è bene. - Everything is alright._

_Sono... - I am..._

_Ma che... - What the..._

_Bastardo - bastard_

_Merda - shit/crap_

_Sono ammetto. - I admit._

_Due destini - two fates/two destinies_

_Aiuto! - Help!_

_Dio - God_

_Sangue - blood_

_Qualsiasi cosa ma sangue. - Anything but the blood._

* * *

**9. A Graceless Serendipity**

**~ Rome, 1494 ~**

Dafne walked, hidden in the shadow of the mighty Castello. She was happy to find herself back in Rome. As beautiful as it is, Naples was, in the end, nothing but another strange settlement, unfamiliar and rather peculiar to the young Florentine.

Nevertheless, it was another fine morning in the city of Rome, and as she strolled down the familiar streets of the Central district, nothing seemed to be out of place, and it was, partly, thanks to her and her deeds.

Feeling somewhat proud about her own little 'masterpiece', Dafne decided to award herself with some rest, and seeing as she closed in on the Pantheon, she found an empty bench and sat. Taking off her scarf, she enjoyed the magical maelstorm of rose petals flowing on the light breeze, making a perfect performance.

The Florentine felt at peace as she watched this beautiful sensation, ignorant of anything else but the serenity it brought her.

And for a moment, for the slightest of seconds, she thought of home. Of Firenze, and her family.

But it, however, didn't cease to linger for long; Roma was her home now, and her fate had been sealed when she was fifteen summers old. Everything behind that, was to be forgotten and filtered as meaningless.

As she sighed, Dafne casually looked around, her glance stopping on the men who were seated on a bench next to her. They seemed to have a live conversation, and being so close, eavesdropping was natural for the Florentine.

"Does he have as much followers?"

"Si, quite. Many are dedicated to his cause, and one of the most troublesome is..."

As the man cautiously looked around, the sight of Dafne being as near as she was made him wince in fright. Observing with the tip of her eye, Dafne saw the man point his finger towards her, as his interlocutor curiously stared.

"Careful!" the man whispered, lightly pushing his mate away as he continued more quietly, "I've heard she is more brutal than any soldier, killing numerous Officials Cesare found fit to be dead."

The latter cocked a brow.

"What is her name?" he asked, as Dafne's lips became crude.

"No one knows. I've heard they call her simply - Il Lauro. The whole city trembles when they spot her. No one escapes her, and if whoever tries to defy the Borgia, she-"

"I can slit your throat right now, my tale teller."

As he registered Dafne's voice, the man's words died along with his breath. He unwillingly turned to look at the Florentine. Her eyes glimmering under the shadow of her hood, narrowed and furious, gave the man a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"I...No...Per favore..." the citizen stuttered, eloquently about to empty his bowel as Dafne continued to give him sinister looks, sending jolts down his spine.

Sickened, Dafne averted her eyes from the man, waving her hand in dismissal. And the latter was more than eager to obey, pulling his mate with him as he ran.

No longer bothered by the dancing petals, Dafne sat, her mind empty and eyes on fire.

* * *

She made her way down the crooked, muddy road, urging herself to rush as she was almost late for an important meeting with the notorious thief gang, Cento Occhi. She suspected she could trust them, and unbeknownst to Cesare himself, she bore a package for them. A package with an important letter she had scrapped up herself. Not even Micheletto was aware of her activities, and frankly, Dafne thought herself skilled enough for delivering messages and parley. Which was another reason she was paying the gang a visit - she was to ask of them to help prevent the recently aroused actions of the Assassins in the city.

She prayed to whichever God was sitting up in the heavens for them to accept this offer and aid them against their foes.

As Dafne entered the Antico District, she became more wary of her surroundings. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, the Assassins could try to eliminate her now. And steal the contents she bore. Or even torture her.

She gulped. Realizing the unneeded gamble she had made, she could no longer feel her limbs, heartbeat nor breathing. All she focused on were the sword dangling from her waist, the knife underneath her tunic, and the Crossbow, that sat on her back.

Dafne was never paranoid, nor did she ever have a reason to be. But as she passed by each bush, each tree or ancient pillar, the remarkables she would usually enjoy when she found herself around these parts, she couldn't hold back the shivers, the gasps, and the cold sweat that beaded on her forehead, soon to drip down. Every little rustle was like a death's calling.

The silence was thickening, squeezing the Florentine like she was to be hanged, making her dread rise more and more.

She could hear steps - running, even, confident steps, from each direction of the world. All of them were closing in on her, as she walked forward, nose to the ground.

At first, Dafne assumed she was imagining it, that it was only the result of her fear.

As the moonlight illuminated the road, she looked upward, into the night sky. There were no clouds this fine, late summer evening, and the distant cries of the cicada and the frogs filled the ears of whoever wished to listen.

Taking off her scarf, Dafne sighed, inhaling the moist air. It smelled of pine, roses and uncertainty, its odor trapped inside of her nostrils as she pondered, the running steps ravaging her mind moment by moment.  
Dafne sighed, supremely trying to suppress the troubling noise.

"Sometimes, the wolves are silent and the Moon howls."

The Assassin smiled as he nodded.

"Si, é vero."

Paralyzed, Dafne observed the front; dressed in the usual Assassin uniform, toned in the confident play of white and red, the man approached slowly.

Silence resented, as Dafne's lips parted into an unfulfilled scream.

"Excuse me for interrupting your business, Signorina," the Assassin began again, becoming menacingly close to the Florentine, "But I had been told that you were in search of my name lately. I've decided to give it to you myself."

Seeing as Dafne only bluntly stared his way, he politely bowed down.

"Niccolò Machiavelli, the Maestro of Roma, al tuo servizio."

"_Maestro_?" Dafne inquired, as she couldn't help but tremble at the irony of the situation.

The Assassin nodded.

"And you must be Il Lauro, si?"

Dafne swallowed, struggling to stiffen herself as she replied, her voice slightly shaking.

"Per i miei nemici e i stronzzi curiosi, si."

Amused, Niccolò came even closer.

"Ah, d'accorddo," he smiled, making a small pause, then adding, "And what, if it is, by all means, not a secret, ceases to keep you awake tonight?"

Slowly ridding off her fear, Dafne countered with more certitude this time.

"Sleep doesn't seem to favor me, so I walk."

Niccolò acknowledged with a low hum, as Dafne added, "And what of yourself, Signor Machiavelli?"

"I've business of my own," he declared after a pause, slightly rising his head, his blue orbs glowing in the darkness, "And, ah, what coincidence, it concerns you too."

Dafne urged herself, although against her will, to form a smile.

"Is that so?" she questioned, becoming aware that the Assassin did not come alone.

Niccolò grinned.

"Si. And I do hope you are eager to cooperate," he made a cynical snort as Dafne heard steps of multiple owners approach her from behind.

She took a deep breath, clenching her fists in preparation for what was to come.

"I'm afraid that I am a bit _busy_ at the moment, Maestro. I will have to turn down your kind offer," Dafne murmured sarcastically, attempting to count how many Assassins surrounded her.

Machiavelli cocked a curious brow.

"Ah, but I had forgotten to tell you, declining is not an option," he uttered in feigned innocence, raising his right hand and flexing it in his elbow, clenching a fist as he whistled.

Reaching her dagger before he could account, Dafne threw it towards Niccolò, turning on her heel as she began running.

She counted; three Assassins were steadily coming her way, more than ready to confront her.

Dafne pulled out her sword. The first of the attackers to come wielded his Hidden Blade, attempting to bury it into the Florentine's neck. However, as Dafne ducked under his armed hand, he got more than he bargained for.

Seeing as the sword came straight through their fellow's abdomen, bloodied and still, the other two Assassins froze for a sheer second, allowing Dafne to liberate her blade and push the corpse off.

She stopped to observe the pair before her. And Machiavelli deemed this the perfect chance to incapacitate her.

Encircling his arm firmly around her neck, as such prompting her to drop her sword, Niccolò used his free hand to stop the two other Assassins, who had unsheathed their Hidden Blades and went in for the kill.

"Remember, we need her alive," he proclaimed, narrowing his eyes as Dafne didn't try to fight for freedom.

"Given up?" Niccolò asked, slightly indulged. Keeping silent a little bit more, feeling his hot brath on her neck, the Florentine spoke.

"No. Only resting."

In a flash, Dafne's elbow was deep in his ribcage, forcing him to release her. Without wasting a second further, Dafne turned to her side, running.

"Non lasciate scappa! Presto!" Machiavelli ordered, and the chase was on again.

Rapidly losing her breath as she closed in on the city, Dafne figured it would be best to find a hiding spot and wait for the Assassins to vanish. She couldn't afford being caught, not now, when she finally learned the Master Assassin's name.

Frowning, Dafne threw a furtive glance behind herself; her pursuers were hot on her tail.

"Diavolo..." she hissed under her breath, as her verdant eyes raced, inspecting the environment in search of a good way to lose the Assassins for good. Ultimately making her way into the streets, Dafne was aware of her advantage; even at night, the Romans occasionally roamed their city, and she could simply disappear between the colorful piles of citizens.

Which would, of course, work if it wasn't for the fact that the Assassins used the exact same trick each time they were hunting or being hunted, and therefore, knew everything there is to know about the art of blending. And Dafne would be more than furious to find this out in the days to follow.

As Dafne entered one large moving group, she concealed herself in the very middle, thinking that those who approach her from either front or behind will have a harder time spotting her. She immensely turned around herself, looking at each direction cautiously. The coast was, evidently, clear for now.

Seconds seemed to pass like years, as Dafne thought of more ways to collide with the crowd should she run into any more menaces. And it occurred to her that a mysterious hooded figure with a scarf over her features surely attracts more attention than a simple peasant girl.

She knew exactly what to do.

* * *

"Maestro, Maestro!"

Niccolò jumped off of the rooftop, blessing his Apprentice with an inquisitive look.

"Si?"

The latter pointed to the ground, as he brought the clothing up and out of the shadow of the narrow, blind street.

"These are hers," the Assassin uttered, allowing Niccolò to study the green tunic for himself, readily awaiting his judgement.

The Master Assassin coughed as he pondered.

"She is trying to outsmart us, but it won't work. Is Amato ready?" he questioned, earning an immediate nod from the Apprentice.

"Si. We have provided the clothes. Camillo will signal us when it is done."

Nodding in understanding, Machiavelli carelessly threw away the tunic.

"Be warned that we _must_ remain unseen at any cost. Should any undue attention arouse, all may be laid to waste," he explained, as the Apprentice lead him out into the square.

* * *

She walked as all the other maidens did, gasping and enjoying the offers of many stands and shops alike, illuminated by the lamps hanging from the surrounding houses. Her cinnamon locks were carefully braided up, and her fresh, mesmerized verdant orbs shone with simplicity and happiness of any young lady her age.

Slowly but surely, she was making her way through the crowds, all the way north to the Piazza del Popolo, as she was afraid to stray away from the moving group she was in. Trapped inside of the Piazza, and now more than sure that her devils were gone for good, she decided to venture out into the open, attempting to leave for the Castello Sant'Angelo, which wasn't too far away.

However, a slight tap on her shoulder had chased out a frightened scream, urging her to jump as she turned to face the man. Even though he was a stranger, his black eyes shimmered with trust and his blond hair was brushed carefully and not a single lock spurted out.

"Pardonatemi," he murmured apologetically, as he made a small smile, "I had been a little clumsy. It wasn't my intention to trouble you."

Sighing in relief, she quickly swept some sweat off of her forehead, forcing a smile of her own.

"Si si, tutto è bene," she assured, as the man went to gently kiss her hand.

"Sono Amato. And you are...?"

She considered for a moment, as his lips made contact with her fingers, before she would answer.

"Laura," she smiled fondly, "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," Amato nodded, friendly throwing his arm around her shoulder, leading her forward. She noticed he would turn his head opposite of her from time to time, and that was reason enough for her to stay suspicious.

"Well, _Amato_, what do you do for a living?" she inquired, as she took each step with more and more anxiety.

"Ah, whatever does my spirit and mind good," the answer was a little too equivocating, and Laura, or rather, Dafne, knew something was wrong.

And two hooded figures on the rooftop above were there to confirm that.

"Maestro, do you wish to strike yourself?"

Machiavelli nodded, yanking his arm to the level of his head, checking if the mechanism was still in working condition.

To his surprise, the blade refused to pierce through the air.

"Ma che-" he growled, trying to urge the blade out with force, but it wouldn't budge. Seeing that the situation was hopeless, he looked at the Apprentice and gestured his head towards Dafne. The latter nodded, crawling closer to the edge of the roof to take a better look of the couple below. Amato had stopped just underneath, and seemed to have a nervous conversation with the Florentine.

"Are you sure you have been truthful with me?" Dafne inquired, and although she wasn't armed, her fists were still good enough for a brawl. The man tried to hide a gulp, desperately keeping eye contact as he quickly thought of what to reply.

As her suspicion finally reached its peak, and a glimmer of realization dawned in her mind, Dafne gritted her teeth, the gratifying smile long gone from her face.

"Bastardo!" she pushed Amato, beginning to run as she quickly scanned her surroundings, hoping she would be able to make it to the Castello alive.

"Merda! Quick, stop her!" Machiavelli maniacally exclaimed, standing up from his lying position and starting to sprint himself. His Apprentice followed, as they hadn't averted their eyes from the fleeing target for the slightest of seconds.

Dafne knew the Assassins would eventually catch up to her, and furthermore, tried to hide again. She mixed into the crowds, exchanging them as soon as she was allowed to, all the while being pursued by the persistent hooded figures.

Slowly losing all hope that she would ever escape them, Dafne accidentally ran into a dark, blind street, and as she attempted to go back, it was already too late.

"You are quite a runner, sono ammetto," Niccolò's praise contained a flick of dismay, as he proceeded, "But sadly, it will not save you. Surrender to your fate in honor."

Dafne let a broad smile dance on her features, as she spread her arms in a hospitable manner.

"To your disappointment, I had surrendered to my fate long ago, Signor Machiavelli. One cannot have due destini, do you not agree?" suppressing her anxiety and fear to the fullest, Dafne continued, "If you wish to torture me, keep in mind that not a single word of both things invaluable and inconsiderable will not make its way to your ear through this mouth. All you will hear is the trashing sound of my crunching bones and the melody of my dying breaths. I can promise you that much."

"We shall see," Machiavelli licked his dry lips as he raised his arm, and the whistling noise was heard again.

Dafne gulped. Was this really the end?

Two more Apprentices aided Niccolò's side, as dread began to break out of her. She threw a glance over the incoming foes' backs, thinking that it may be the last time she sought freedom, but a spark of hope bolted before her eyes, urging her to act quick.

"Ah, woe is me, woe is me, aiuto! Aiuto!" Dafne yelled at the top of her lungs, attracting the attention of the bypassing patrol of guards. She didn't stray from running directly into the Assassins, as she was sure she would steal a proper chance to flee in the disaster that was supposed to occur.

"Men, on them!" the fully-armored guard order the patrol in, and as the soldiers charged, holding their weapons high above their heads, the Assassins were forced to face them.

As he attempted to grab Dafne, Niccolò was firmly pushed away by a guard, who aimed for his head with his war hammer. Instantly taking her chance, the Florentine ran.

"Not so fast!" one of the Apprentices reached his hand into his bag and pulled out a Smoke Bomb, allowing it to take impact amid of battle.

"No!" instead of keeping silent, Dafne screamed out her anger, easily revealing her position. A few gunshots could be heard, and as she made her way out of the stifling fog, the Florentine felt something tingle her left rib.

As she looked down to examine, her eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

"D-Dio..." her dress soaked in dripping blood, she could clearly see the route the bullet took, obliterating everything in its way.

Dafne gasped, falling to her knees.

"Sangue..." she whispered, pitifully disgusted, "Sangue...Qualsiasi cosa ma sangue..."

Her vision blurred, and her breath fading, her palm becoming more bloodied as she pressed it against the wound, Dafne fell, yearning something, someone, far away, into the distant, starry sky...

And that's when everything went darker than any abyss beyond human imagination.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: 'Nother one of dem chaps! Arrrgh, lovey-dovey in this one too. What can I say about that stuff, can't eat enough chocolate to write it, can't imagine a romance ficlet without it either. So yeah. x') Anywaysss, been reading 'bout some coma reports that I could smuggle up on Google, and I tried to portray the state as plausibly as possible. Do tell me what you think of it! :) Nothing too special in this one, 'cept that I developed a little more to Dafne's character and that kinda stuff, but I'mma try and be interesting in le next one! (psh, when am I ever interesting? Xp)**

**P.S. Copying and pasting Messer Machiavelli's name was rather enjoyable, kukuku~**

**P.P.S. Is it late for dedications? If not, I dedicate this to mah awesome sistah, Phantom Nini! Okay, you can go read nao. :3**

**Le friggin' notice - phrases written in (dat) Italian:**

_Dottore - doctor_

_Va bene! - Alright!/Good!_

_La tua voglia é mia ordine. - Your wish is my command._

_Figli di cani - sons of bitches_

_Tieni! - Here!_

_Si - yes_

_Spagna - Spain_

_Un strumento - a tool/an instrument_

_Principessa - Princess_

_Ma che cazzo? - What the fuck?_

_Porca puttana! - Holy shit! _

_Stai bene? - Are you alright?_

_Buongiorno! - Hello!/Good day!_

_Ragazza - girl_

_Grazie mille! - Thanks so much!_

_Padrone - master_

_Città - city_

_Meraviglioso! - Marvelous!/Wonderful!_

_E' il mio obliggo. - It is my duty._

* * *

**10. In The Dark**

**~ Rome, 1494 ~**

Voices. Moves. Shivers. Breaths.

Dafne couldn't feel her face, as a hand steadily coiled down her stomach, throwing something over her. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids simply refused to lift upward, keeping her in the dark, without any knowledge of her whereabouts or the past events whatsoever.

Moreover, what was her name again?

"Cesare?"

She heard a few steps, and then an impatient groan.

"What happened?" an agitated voice barked.

"The Assassini. She had been tailed, and they attempted to kill her. Perhaps she discovered something of importance?"

A thoughtful silence resented as Dafne waited, suddenly remembering all the events the other voice just described.

More touches occurred, as she kept still. It seemed someone was inspecting her ribs, and as soon as he'd touched a certain spot, she could feel a painful agony trying to rush out of her lips, but to no avail, as she couldn't move a muscle.

"Not too bad, though the bullet missed a vital spot for a mere notch. If I hadn't been taking a late evening walk and il Dottore wasn't as near..."

The inquiring one made a low hum, as his fingers tickled her neck and chest.

"Va bene. It is crucial for you to take good care of her, and inform me as soon as she awakens."

"La tua voglia é mia ordine, Cesare."

The latter moved his hand away from her, as retreating footsteps echoed throughout her skull for the rest of the night...

* * *

It seemed as though Dafne had dozed off, though it rather might've been that she got tired of listening and waiting and set her mind to itself.

Unfortunately, she still couldn't do anything but breathe and hear, and such a state slowly began to rob her of patience.

From time to time, she would sense a presence next to herself, but never for a longer period. She was aware of the loneliness, aware that more time needed to pass until she was to finally break through the endless black, to encrypt her muscles and stretch them again, and to feel her voice fluently flow out of her throat.

_But who was to blame for this awful ordeal_?, Dafne asked herself.

Slowly, but surely, a name appeared - Niccolò Machiavelli, the Maestro of Rome. Sad that he will be leaving the world as soon as she is able to hold a blade again, Dafne pledged caustically.

But still, the Assassini have made a mistake, a grand mistake, when they attempted to kill her, she figured later on. They were supposed to be skilled, silent murderers, who stay secretive and are never caught. What possibly went wrong that evening? They had her settled in a perfect spot. One precise strike from above was more than enough to finish her off. Why did they not do it when they had a chance, and allowed her to flee again? Dafne couldn't seem to understand.

But one she did comprehend - fortune favored her that day, more or less, and she was going to put that to her advantage. Soon, she will be back on her own feet, she will tell Cesare the valuable knowledge she gained, and the cursed figli di cani will pay for what they've done.

And other times, when Dafne didn't think of her vendetta, she thought of Cesare. The fact that she couldn't see him angered her more than anything in the whole wide world. She wondered what he was doing, does he look the same as she saw him last time...Will he even be there long enough for her to awaken?

She mentally shuddered at the thought.

And then again, Dafne would doze off, or think of the most random things there were. Old poems and plays she'd often borrow from the Roman library returned to her. The most beautiful words ever carved into paper and parchment. She often wondered would it have been better for her if she became a poet or an artist instead of...Instead of...Well, she wasn't really sure what she was. A murderer? A fraud? A mercenary? But she took no money for her deeds.

Ah, Dafne finally admired with pride, she was Cesare's. Committed to him and his cause. That's what Dafne Vespucci lived for. Her loyalty was endless, vaster than any ocean or conquered land.

* * *

She was still breathing, she thought. That was a sign that she was still among the living, right? She had gotten sick of the stalemate, the feeling of the wound burning her ribs, and the maddening silence of the room they had concealed her in.

Dafne had not felt a presence besides herself for too long. Had they forgotten about her? Abandoned her? Her questions were answered when the room filled with visitors again.

"Tieni, Dottore," in recognition of Micheletto's voice, Dafne tried to open her eyes, but with little success.

"Si. She has been like this for how long, you say?"

"Six days."

So that much passed, Dafne considered. And she would bet any dire that it had been over a month.

"I see," the Doctor replied, as he went to inspect her body. He pressed his palm against her throat. Dafne could feel how sore it was. The man continued downward, halting his hand on her chest.

In contrast to her corpse-like appearance, her heart traitorously slammed against the Doctor's fingers.

"Pulse and respiration are both as fine as this Castello!" he exclaimed jokingly, as he proceeded to Dafne's left rib.

An ounce of pain exploded through her system, abundant and agonizing.

If only she could scream. If only she could get rid of the healer's touch. This state was worse than death, she figured.

As the doctor, slow as if on purpose, approached the bandages and tore them off as carefully as possible, Dafne could feel the material sweep off her skin, burning both the wound and the circle around it.

But not a hiss could escape her lips.

"Hmm, it seems to be healing properly. From what I gather, however, it will leave a permanent mark," the man ran his finger around the wound. The Florentine groaned inwardly. She would even have a scar as an eternal reminder of what the Assassins managed to do to her.

At this rate, revenge was inevitable.

"Ah, how unfortunate," Micheletto mumbled as the doctor bundled Dafne with newly-prepared bandage. The task omitted more time than the female would've liked, but nevertheless, she was glad when it was finally over.

She heard the doctor stand up and take a few steps, probably followed up by Micheletto to the door.

"Say, Dottore, there is one more thing I must ask of you," he began, immediately attracting Dafne's attention.

"Oh? Be out with it, then," the other proclaimed, as their voices became more distant. The Florentine had to strain her ears to the fullest as she tried to comprehend their sentences.

"Donna Lucrezia had caught a slight cold during her last travel to Spagna, and Cesare urged me to bring her a healer," Dafne managed to catch Micheletto's words, before the two men would fade away forever.

She was certain she was able to frown this time; the stinging anger she suddenly felt in the back of her head quickly spread over to her chest and down her abdomen. The physical wound didn't matter anymore.

In fact, Dafne felt so furious, so enraged, so sickened, that she wished to punch herself straight into the newly gained scar, only to avert her thoughts from the coiling bate that overwhelmed her.

As if it wasn't enough that she heard Lucrezia's name, but Cesare _caring for her _was...Unbelievable! It made the Florentine immensely agitated. It didn't matter if she was his sister or not, she wasn't so dumb to not realize what these two did while no one was looking.

And this thought Dafne was obligated to coronate with the exact imagination of the said. Flashing images she could now not stop fleeted before her eyes instead of the darkness. A foul odor filled her nose as she could feel a bitter taste of nothing inside of her dried mouth.

But why, Dafne would ask herself, did it ale her as much? Surely, she shouldn't even _dare _judge anything that was...Never hers in the first place.

And suddenly, the fluent flowing of ire emptied from her system, as she realized how small she was in his life. How pitiful her existence was. One kiss, and she thought she was his world.

Cesare was far away, into his own world of war-craft, whims and musings. He was unreachable to the Florentine. He was never for her to claim in the first place. She was only...

"Un strumento," Dafne murmured as she sat up. Her coma was finally overcame.

With each breath came more pain, more sorrow, more pity for herself. Dafne clenched a fist, staring down at her injury. She needn't be gentle. Gentleness was for the weak.

An inhumane roar filled up the halls of the Castel Sant'Angelo. As she slammed her fist into the rib over and over, Dafne didn't stray from screaming louder. She'd hoped the _P__rincipessa_ herself could hear her, if nothing, but for it to ruin her day.

Running steps reached Dafne's ears as Micheletto busted into the room, almost falling in the process.

"Ma che cazzo?! You're awake!" he yelped, as he positioned himself beside Dafne, attempting to silence her with his hand.

As she finally unbolted her verdant orbs, the Florentine inhaled like she'd never done the said before; feeling the light, blessing air watering her eyes, her arms and legs yanking on their own, she completely ignored the pain from the injury.

The world around her spun in a dream-like, shimmering motion, blurring and gifting her with a mild headache. The room went awry each time she would blink.

"Porca puttana..." Dafne whispered, as she yearned the life coming back to her body in awe. Micheletto stood lifelessly for a moment, before he would finally speak up.

"S-Stai bene?" he inquired, seating himself on the bed, as Dafne tempted herself to forget about her arching rib. She would only give him silence. But the silence spoke for itself.

As he looked away for a brief moment, Micheletto would act curious again.

"Do you know why this happened? Have you learned anything?"

Dafne coughed, weakly shuddering against the cushions as her eyes shut.

"I had learned...That you do not need to be dead to die," she announced mystically, leaning on the pillow as Micheletto observed her, befuddled.

"What do you mean?" he asked. The Florentine let out a sigh.

"Bring him, and I will speak," she muttered almost quietly, as she returned back to the disdain of the darkness, feeling as though she was descending right through the bed, below, into the unknown...

* * *

As she emptied the jug, water swiftly flowed down her throat. But the endless thirst refused to be contented.

"One more, I beg of you," Dafne pleaded to the servant, who grabbed the vacant dish and rushed outside of the room. Falling back into her pillow again, the Florentine huffed. Her lips were already dry, and her tongue leaped from side to side, gathering up spit so she could resist until more fluid was to arrive.

The servant finally came back, and Dafne almost smuggled the jug out of his hands, crashing its contents into herself, hoping to put down the burning fire inside.

And surprisingly, as suddenly as it came, the thirst expired.

Gasping for air after the last swallow, Dafne handed the jug over to the servant, muttering a frail 'thank you' as the latter nodded with courtesy.

Her head fell back; she wasn't thinking of anything in particular. Not like she really could. It was as though her mind had voided and brain gave up once she was finally out of her week-long trance. It bothered her, because she couldn't think clearly, and Cesare was to come visit her any moment now.

As the said thought came across her, Dafne immediately sat up, rising her nose with some little dignity and respect she had left.

A few light knocks could be heard at the door some minutes after, prompting the servant to stand up and open them. Dafne peeked over his shoulder.

"Oh, buongiorno-"

"Get _out_ of _my_ _way_," Cesare was quick to demand, his tone irascible, pushing the said away as he entered the room. His navy orbs peered at Dafne, who felt herself fade under his gaze as he approached.

"Ah, ragazza. Welcome back among the living," Cesare teased, as he sat next to Dafne. The Florentine stole a moment to study him; he had grown a light beard and a mustache since the last time she saw him, and she found herself admiring the said novelties with great sympathy.

"Grazie mille, padrone," she nodded gently, as she threw a quick glance at Micheletto who had joined them as well.

Cesare placed his hand on her shoulder, as he cleared his throat to continue speaking.

"Are you aware what happened to you, ragazza?" he began, "Why did the Assassini attack you? How did this happen?"

Dafne pondered for a moment, as a flick of remembrance torched upon her weltered mind.

"I was...I was taking a walk in the outskirts that evening, and-"

"Even though you _knew _you had become notorious throughout the città?"

The Florentine gained some color in her cheeks as Cesare interrupted her matter-of-factly.

"...And, I've, uh...Come to notice some strange sentience in the air," she proceeded as though she was never interrupted, "But I had decided to ignore it, thinking that it was only a fragment of my imagination. As I continued down the road, the Assassino appeared before me..."

Dafne told the story from the beginning to the very end, describing the chase with as much detail as her memory would allow, concluding with the slight portrayal of the coma she'd lived through. And finally, the most important thing - the Master Assassin's name.

"Niccolò Machiavelli," the Florentine would declare proudly, as she glanced over into Cesare's eyes. Was that laudation she saw?

"Meraviglioso!" the General would exclaim, as more than satisfaction glimmered in the depths of his blue orbs. He turned to nod over at Micheletto, who returned the action, exiting the room a second later.

"You had done well, ragazza, more than well!" Cesare complimented, as Dafne felt herself unable to hold back a broad smile.

"E' il mio obliggo, Signore," she refined. The General's lips became mildly crooked, as the room fell silent for a nick of time.

"And, a reward is due, of course," he remarked persuasively. Dafne's stare became stolid, as she gloated at Cesare in confusion.

"A reward?" she stuttered, but another fit of coughs took its wrath upon her, and her body slightly bent as her chest twitched. Dafne had covered her mouth, and as soon as the sensation was over, Cesare closed in on her, leniently cupping her chin as their glances met. The smile was soon a grin.

"_Si_," he answered in obviousness, obtaining a coax appeal to his features as he brought Dafne's face to his own. In the next moment, the Florentine knew she would be subdued, ensnared, dominated, once again.

* * *

_July 19th, 1494, Roma_

_Today, I am finally able to walk again, and my mind is at ease. It seems the time had stopped while I spent it lying about, warmly tucked underneath the soft cushions of my bed, but I appreciate the rest, as I was in need of it for a period now. I am beginning to receive tasks again, just like two years ago, which ceases to keep my mind occupied, and my thoughts away from those who target me myself. And as I go and take another life, liberate another soul from the clutches of the world, memories line up, like the pieces of a broken mirror. Once put together, they form a reflection, they show us as who we are, for we are nothing without our memories and the ability to cling onto them. And beyond the edge of such a mirror lies the truth. Beyond the mirror's edge...It sounds like a fairy tale, but furthermore, I will go as far as I am permitted, and I won't look back, even if the mirror itself becomes ashes. I will find myself. And he...He will be there. Beside me. Or so I would like to think._

_D.V"_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I enjoyed writing this waaaaaayyyy too much. 'Cause mocking OC's is fun, LOL! xD Anyway, super-long chap (for my standards), we get more peoplez to join our heroine's cause, even though they're...Kinda creepy. Well, life's creepy, no? Creepy is...Normal. Yeah. Logic. :'D ****Also helpless fanservice in this one, 'cause I'm a fangirl. And...Cesare...Yeah. :3 Anyway, do enjoy~**

**P.S. I'm putting the story on hiatus for a short while, 'cause I managed to get my hands on Cesare's biography, written by Raphael Sabatini (who completely cleans the unfairly tainted name of the Borgia and is an awesome writer and my new idol all in all). There won't be a new chap til I'm done with Mr. Perfect's bio, so you kiddies are gonna have to WAAAAAIIIT. Ahahahaaaa, I'm so EEEvil. Now shoo, go read!**

**Notice - le frasi in Italiano:**

_Silenzio! - Silence!_

_Stolto - fool/moron_

_Si - yes_

_Bambina - child_

_Vai al diavolo, canaglia vecchia. - Go to hell, old asshole._

_Stronzo - fool/asshole_

_Per favore! - Please!_

_Principessa - Princess_

_Ma che cazzo? - What the fuck?_

_Zitto! - Shut up!_

_Va bene! - Alright!_

_Ma vaffanculo! - Fuck you!_

_Buffone - clown/fool_

_Buona sera! - Good evening!_

_Che? - What?_

_Pezzo di merda - piece of shit_

_Idiota - idiot_

_Cazzo! - Fuck!/Damn!_

_Ragazza - girl_

_Mente - mind_

_Scusatemi! - Forgive me!/Excuse me!_

_Bene! - Alright!_

_Dormiglione - sleepyhead_

_Dio - God_

_Tieni! - Here!_

_Amico - friend_

_Secta Luporum - Sect of the Wolves_

_Perfetto! - Perfect!_

_Ma! - But!_

_Grazie! - Thank you!_

_Ho finito. - I'm finished._

_Colazione - breakfast_

_Sciocco - silly/foolish/ridiculous_

* * *

**11. The Howling**

**~ Rome, 1495 ~**

As she lied the man down onto solid ground, he continued to spill his internal fluids, as he refused to stop coughing and make more noise.

"Silenzio, stolto!" Dafne hissed wildly, as she dragged the dying victim behind a cart. A curious citizen was about to inquire what on earth was happening, but as Dafne pointed her bloodied blade straight towards him, he swallowed the question along with his pride and made a run for it.

"Y-You...!" the victim stuttered, but Dafne silenced him with a punch, as he coughed blood into her face.

"Do you see how much good the Assassini had brought you? You are lying in filth, dying like a dog under my feet, soon to take your leave. Will you remain ignorant to the very end?"

As Dafne concluded her speech, the man stopped whimpering, a bitter smile on his face as he uttered with difficulty.

"Si, you are right, they had brought me no good, no benefit for myself," breaths hurled out of his mouth as he fought to keep them lingering, "But at least, I had lived a life of freedom and righteousness, with honor from the beginning to the very end. Ask yourself, bambina, ask yourself...Whether you had done the same."

With his last word manically pushed outside of his throat, the man's neck relaxed and his head fell back. No longer feeling his pulse raiding as it did moments ago, Dafne sighed.

"Vai al diavolo, canaglia vecchia," she encircled her arms around the man's waist, struggling against his weight as she attempted to pull him upward. Eventually, she succeeded, and she threw him into the haystack-full cart, brushing the dust off of herself.

Dafne quickly reflected over her surroundings to clear her thoughts. She had been on the old stronzo's tail all day, and little did she realize it was twilight already.

"I am getting rusty..." she murmured to herself, but a loud snicker caught her attention.

"But you did get the job done," Micheletto sneered as he leaned on the pillar opposite of the Florentine. She gave him a weak nod.

"Si, but it wears me out a bit," Dafne shivered for a moment, as the lack of light taunted her, "Do walk with me. I...I do not favor the dark so much."

Micheletto gave into a soft laughter as he walked over to her.

"Is it possible that the incredible Il Lauro knows of fear?" he mocked, lightly tapping Dafne's shoulder.

She peered back at him.

"No, it just...It does not do me justice when I am alone," she muttered hesitantly, quickly adding, "Per favore, let us go home."

Micheletto chuckled as he lead her forward.

"Si, Principessa," both he and Dafne engaged into an amused laughter, as they strolled down the silent, empty street.

"Well, aren't you in an attentive mood today! Is there a special reason for this?" the Florentine questioned, glancing toward her partner with a hazy stare, as the breeze tickled her features.

Micheletto grinned.

"Let's say Cesare wasn't in his usual, foul mood today, so he told me I could rest for the weeks to come, and he promised I will not be given any tasks, as a reward for the good work I had done so far. Quite intimidating, no?" he explained, as Dafne pouted in protest.

"Ma che cazzo?! How does that make any sense? As if I don't do what is asked of me, and I still don't get such treatment!"

Micheletto pouted himself.

"But weren't you the one who laid about for weeks back when the incident with the Assassini had stricken you? I do believe you got more than you asked for," he teased, smirking again, as Dafne growled.

"Bah, it is a hazardous judgement to say that I enjoyed myself back then! I still claim it is not fair."

After a short pause, as if he remembered something, Micheletto elbowed the Florentine.

"Oh, don't worry, Principessa. I am sure Cesare will find a way to reward you for your troubles."

This urged a blush onto Dafne's cheeks, as she manically looked away from the smirking man, who was aware he had hit just the exact spot.

"Z-Zitto..." she muttered, and Micheletto laughed out, as amused as ever.

Silence resented for a little while, before Micheletto decided to break it again.

"You know, I do understand your fear of dark," the night-haired man proposed with mystery adorning his voice. Dafne cocked a brow at the sudden change of topics.

"Oh?" she asked curiously, observing the sun's final moments among them, as it quickly descended behind the distant horizon.

Micheletto sighed, prompting a dramatic pause as the Florentine eyed him closely.

"You see...There are people, ghost-like creatures, who roam the city at night. Whoever dares to trespass into their territory is acclaimed victim by their god, who they worship passionately. So watch your step when you are on an assignment at nighttime, va bene?" he deadpanned, vigorous and convincing in each of his words.

Upon finishing his strange tale, he turned to look at the Florentine, who pierced him back, utterly terrified by what she just heard.

In the next moment, Micheletto was groping his stomach, as he couldn't hold back the joyous laughter he had worked hard to keep suppressed as he spoke.

Dafne watched him as if he had fallen from grace.

"W-What's so funny?" she inquired, still somewhat phased by Micheletto's story.

"Your face!" the latter exclaimed through a series of snorts, as Dafne finally managed to comprehend what he just did.

"Ma vaffanculo!" she strained through gritted teeth, as she spread her arm to lay a light hit on Micheletto's head, who was still laughing helplessly at her naivety.

In such good spirits, the pair continued down the empty, darkening street, as a figure clothed in wolf skin carefully observed them from above...

* * *

"Cesare sends forth an urgent assignment for you," Micheletto huffed as he handed over the piece of parchment to Dafne. She groaned.

"Aah, for real, at this hour? It's almost midnight!" she complained, but nevertheless, she knew that, as usual, she had no choice in the matter.

"Just be quick about it," Micheletto peered back, as he took his leave, making Dafne mutter words not so nice at his back.

Sighing, she went to her chambers to change. Minutes after, she was walking down the Castel bridge, feeling the chilly autumn air pierce her face, even though she was warmly tucked inside of her clothes.

Mumbling a weak 'good evening' to the soldiers who guarded the end of the bridge so they would let her through, Dafne turned left and climbed onto the post of the wooden lift that was settled there. Triggering the rope, she was pulled up with immense speed, and seconds later, she was calmly wandering the Roman roofs as if they were just a normal street. She knew her target would be easier to locate from this height.

But one thing tended to trouble the Florentine; as the years went by, the number of people she had to kill increased. Of course, not in a giant manner, but still quite enough for her to often feel insecure when she walked the streets. She felt loathing gazes burn her back, often heard whispers that didn't mean her well. They didn't mean Cesare well either. She constantly had to keep her guard up, especially at night.

Dafne gulped. _Damned Micheletto and his blabbering,_ she cursed. As she leaped onto another rooftop, she asked herself whether his story was supposed to be a sly allusion to the Assassins.

_But he said they only venture out at night...Ah, but why am I even bothering, that buffone was obviously toying with me, _the Florentine would conclude with this.

As she scanned the street below, she figured the target was nowhere in sight. Therefore, she continued south.

More than an hour would take her to sniff through the whole Central district, but the man wasn't there. Scoffing, Dafne proceeded looking down into the Antico district. She carefully peered through the pillars and antic, stone gates, and she would remain without luck until she reached the Terme di Traiano.

She saw him, sitting on the ground and leaning against a pillar, carelessly munching an apple as he conversed to a few people beside him. A weird time for a picnic, Dafne pondered, but nevertheless, there was no time to waste.

"Buona sera, Signore," she walked up to the man without hesitation, addressing him directly. He looked up; he was a small, middle-aged man, with a light beard and bright eyes.

"Er, buona sera," he mumbled confused, as he knitted his brows, "Forgive me, but do I know you?"

Dafne pulled down her scarf, curving her lips in a modest smile, "Oh, but I know you."

Not any less confused in the slightest, the man bluntly stared her way. Dafne gestured him to follow her, as she quickly stepped out of the dim light of the torch positioned near to the sitting group. And a moment later, she heard footsteps behind herself, and knew she had to prepare the knife.

"Signorina?" the man asked out, as Dafne went behind a pillar. Intending to follow, the man felt himself shivering, and in another moment, he gasped.

The Florentine's blade was deep in his throat, as she watched his blood spurt all over the ground. The deed was done.

The people were still having a pleasant conversation over by the torch, and were too busy to notice Dafne wielding a corpse and hiding it into a nearby bush. But as she turned the victim onto his stomach to place him properly, something caught her eye; a dagger, long and sharp, covered in skin, was buried deep inside the man's back. And it wasn't her dagger.

Dafne paled; what was this supposed to mean?

She manically studied her environment, but nothing but the whistling of a cold, nightly breeze and the distant exclaims of the people could be heard nor seen.

Thinking that she should make herself scarce as quickly as humanly possible, Dafne sprinted. And the moment she did, the light of the torch went out.

"Che...?" she heard a surprised question behind herself, and she decided to stand and listen.

"What the hell happened to it? Was it this damned wind?" a woman asked in an agitated manner, as a few concealed mumbles could be heard from the others. But in the next moment, the people were screaming their lungs out in fear, as dog-like howls and barks resounded throughout the antic baths.

Dafne trembled; what on _earth _was going on? As the final victim was brutally silenced, the Florentine realized she was too scared to even turn around.

"O Romulus, what do these trespassers want in our territory at this hour?" a ghost-like voice ceremonially announced, and a few more wolf-like howls could be heard as multiple steps enclosed, Dafne figured, closer to herself.

"Turn around!" the cruel voice ordered, and Dafne knew the order targeted herself. Slowly, with her heart in her heels, the Florentine turned. A pack of wolves - no, they were humans in wolf skin - blessed her from the other side.

They all looked like muscular savages, and the massacred corpses scattered underneath them did not help to fix such an image. Nevertheless, Dafne was stunned. Were they real, or was this a mere fragment of her imagination?

"Introduce yourself, or drop dead!" a voice that was quite realistic spoke again, and the Florentine eyed the pack of menaces. And still, she couldn't utter a single word, not even a frightened scream that urged itself out so much.

Silence, somewhat awkward, somewhat horrifying, resented in between Dafne and the strange group. But some of the wolves were not as patient.

"Can't you see it's just another pezzo di merda? Let's kill her!"

With a stern bark that rushed the sweat out of the Florentine's body, the angered man took a few steps, wielding his dagger. But the one who spoke earlier was there to stop him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded more than asked, as his fellow threw him a phased glance.

"Idiota, do you not know who that is?" he growled, and Dafne immediately realized he was the superior in this...Sect, since they swore to Romulus earlier. And it was somewhat familiar to her as well.

Nevertheless, the superior went to explain further.

"That is Il Lauro, and she works for the Borgia. She is one of the most notorious faces in the city, even able to escape the Assassini when they had targeted her last year," he now raised his head to measure the Florentine from head to toe, "I had been spying on her for...A period of time."

Dafne's jaw dropped; that _thing_, following her around? How did she not take notice of him?

Letting his lips form a small smile, the man approached the Florentine, as the rest of his crew stood behind and observed closely.

"I am aware of your abilities, and therefore, I choose not to fight with you, but I offer...An alliance," the wolf carefully proposed, as Dafne's curiosity arouse. She motioned him to continue.

"We could join the Borgia cause too...For a decent amount of coin, that is," a sinister smirk broadened on his face as he uttered the spiteful sentence.

Dafne pondered for a moment.

"It is not mine to judge whether you are allowed to join or not, but if you will let me go now, I will tell of your request to my master," she muttered, as the man nodded in understanding.

"So be it. I will be expecting you here before dawn," he added matter-of-factly, as Dafne glared at him; he wanted her to take care of it _tonight_? Oh well, it was probably the cost of letting her go.

Without second thoughts, the Florentine ran, boosting her speed as she inwardly cursed at whatever she could think of.

* * *

Dafne gulped, unwillingly knocking on the door for the third time.

Again, no answer came.

"Cazzo..." she hissed underneath her breath, summoning all of her courage as she pushed the door open herself.

"Signore!" she roamed through the dark for a sheer second, trying to figure out where Cesare's bed was. As she narrowed her orbs, she could clearly spot it by the light that broke in from the corridor outside, and without further thinking, she went straight to the snoring General, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Signore! Wake up!" she rapidly shook him, praying that he doesn't react too badly to the fact that she is shaking him in the middle of the night. And as the Florentine continued to give him such treatment, a knife was settled just by her throat, silencing her in a flash.

Now awake and utterly frustrated, Cesare groaned, as his blue eyes shimmered in the darkness.

"Ragazza?! Are you out of your _mente_? Why the hell are you waking me at this hour?!" Cesare grunted through gritted teeth, pressing his knife a little harder against Dafne's neck. She gulped for the umpteenth time that evening.

"I...I...S-Scusatemi, er...It is...Something of g-great importance!" she stuttered, feeling the blade slowly retreat from her features, as Cesare groaned irritably.

"Be out with it then!" he demanded, as he lifted the cushions covering his body and stood up. Dafne managed to steal a peek of his beautifully crafted, naked body as he went to put on his pants.

"Er..." she began vaguely, as Cesare lit up a candle and sat himself in his armchair, still half-naked.

"_Si_?" he encouraged her forward, as she looked away, attempting to hide an inevitable blush.

Dafne spoke of the men she met, and their request, and once this was done, a thoughtful silence filled the room as Cesare figured what to do, and Dafne awaited his judgement.

"Hmm...I suspect a capable ally will be needed in the city in the future, to avoid taking any chances. Tell them I accept," Cesare spoke, but Dafne was quick to emerge.

"Signore, their leader also desired to hear of your decision by morning, and I also think he would like to see the payment right away," this earned her a low groan from the General.

"Bene, wait for me here," he strained as he threw on a linen shirt, rushing out of his quarters and leaving Dafne alone for a short while.

While waiting, the Florentine slightly dozed off, eventually ending up lying into the General's bed, overwhelmed with fatigue and enjoying the scent left by its owner. And before she knew it, Dafne had descended into a prerequisite slumber, curling her knees up to her chest.

She imagined Cesare from a few minutes ago; imagined his god-like features, like a million of the old Roman statues scattered throughout the city, only better. A lot better.

A lenient giggle escaped Dafne's lips as she continued to snarl through her musings. And just as she was about to slip away into the world of dreams, a hand mockingly poked her head.

"_Rise and shine, dormiglione_," Cesare taunted softly, as Dafne's eyes quickly shot open, an embarrassed shriek leaving her mouth as she jumped upward.

"D-Dio! Do forgive me, I was tired!" she defended, manically shivering as Cesare laughed.

"Relax, ragazza. Here, I've brought you the money. While you're at it, try to learn about this 'sect' as much as you can. Come report to me once it is done," Cesare handed Dafne the bag, as florins clattered in its confines. Nodding, the Florentine rushed out, still somewhat stricken by the latest event.

* * *

"Tieni," Dafne muttered as the wolf literally smuggled the bag out of her hand.

"A wise decision, your master is an intelligent man," he praised, as he hid the bag into his clothes. Dafne smiled gently.

"That he is," she began, narrowing her orbs as the firmament above them became brighter, "But there is something else that pecks my interest..._Amico_."

The man raised a brow, indicating Dafne to continue.

"Could you tell me more about this 'order' of yours?" she questioned, and a small pause followed before the wolf would answer.

"We are the the Secta Luporum. Romulus is our god, and we worship him with the greatest of passions," Dafne listened closely, as Micheletto's story from earlier surfaced back to her, and she cursed him once again.

"I see. So, you are the _Followers_ of Romulus, yes?" she questioned, and the wolf nodded, "Si, it could be put as such. But the peculiar thing is..."

An amused smirk appeared on his face, as Dafne watched him inquisitively.

"I am one of the leaders, the one who brings the will of Romulus to the rest of the pack. And they follow this order mindlessly, without questioning it in the slightest. Which means, whatever I say, they execute. _Whatever_," a hint of artifice was contained in his words, and the Florentine could grasp that immediately.

"Ah, perfetto," she acknowledged, "Then you'll have no problem in furthering our cause, si?"

The man tapped her shoulder lightheartedly.

"As long as the income is this opulent, you can count on us," he smirked, and Dafne was sure she had heard enough. Waving goodbye to the Follower, she made her way back to the Castello, hungry for a goodnight's sleep.

* * *

Finding herself in traduce when it came to knocking on Cesare's door again, Dafne nodded, willing to take that too off of her back and finally go to her quarters to rest.

"Signore?" she ventured in after a few weak knocks, as Cesare raised his head to acknowledge her. The curtains on his window had been moved, and sunlight shot straight through, blinding the Florentine for a sheer second.

"It is done. The leader also told me that they worship Romulus, and that they'll be able to further our cause with no difficulties," she declared, failing to prevent a yawn that made its way out of her mouth as she spoke in a monotonous manner.

"Ah, marvelous news. You have done well, ragazza," Cesare admitted, as Dafne weakly nodded in response.

In the next moment, she was more than tempted to ask something, as her head mercilessly dwindled in a tired motion.

"Am I...Dismissed?" she inquired hopefully, but Cesare had different plans.

"No," he said simply, urging Dafne's verdant eyes to widen.

"M-Ma..."

"You have robbed me of my sleep, I will rob you of yours!" Cesare growled, and at this point, Dafne was ready to start an argument, considering how tired she was, but a servant interrupted her by meekly pushing her from the door and into the room, as he bore a tray filled with goods.

"As you desired, Messere," the servant declared, carefully placing the tray onto Cesare's desk, as the latter nodded, waving his hand in dismissal.

"Sit," Cesare gestured Dafne towards the chair that stood on the opposite side of his desk. The Florentine's stare was blank.

"Do I have to drag you over _myself_?" the General growled, repeating his action, thus nodding in an attempt to encourage her. Pushing herself to comply, Dafne still appeared lost, as if he asked her to jump out the window or something equally insane.

Nevertheless, her heart pounded in ecstasy as she seated herself, heedfully observing every little twitch Cesare would make.

On the other hand, Cesare acted impassive, gracefully taking a loaf of bread and cutting it to smaller pieces. He'd take the pasty that was served in a silver bowl beside it onto his knife and smooth it onto the bread. Nonchalant and brash, as he was.

Dafne didn't even notice for how long she had been staring, nor did she care; her hands were calmly resting on her lap, and she had leaned onto the chair's support comfortably. As Cesare began eating, Dafne averted her eyes for the slightest of seconds; she wasn't as tired as she thought, she would admit caustically.

"Why aren't you eating, ragazza?" after swallowing his first bite, Cesare would question in an extravagant, yet casual manner.

Her eyes still averted from himself, Dafne made a small smile.

"I am not hungry, grazie."

Another groan escaped Cesare's lips.

"Do I have to _feed you _as well?" he asked sarcastically, prompting a sympathetic giggle from the Florentine's behalf.

"No," she gazed back at him, eyes gleaming, "Buon appetito!"

The cheerfulness of her voice was opulent; Cesare hummed with a smile, as Dafne gently grasped her own knife and ate. The two sat in silence, casting gazes at one another from time to time. This completely broke the slumber from the Florentine's malevolent eyes, as she slowly chewed on each bite. Slower and slower, so this silence, so magnificent, so fragile, so substantial, would last longer.

She wished it to be everlasting. She would steal a glance into his blue eyes, and he would return the deed, glancing into her verdant ones for but a moment; and it was sufficient. And more than enough to leave her moonstruck.

Dafne was having an inner quarrel with herself as she took another piece of bread; after considering these beautiful seconds they would sometimes exchange, and...Other factors...Maybe...Just maybe...

But no, Dafne shuddered, it is only but an assumption of instance, impatience. And thus...Lucrezia...

"Ho f-finito," the Florentine would announce, as the knife left her hand with a sharp _clang, _"I t-thank you for the lovely colazione, you are most kind!"

She quickly stormed out of the chair, clumsily bumping her knee onto the desk as she withdrew a low moan of pain, bowing down. Cesare snickered.

"You are _dismissed_, sciocca ragazza," he replied soothingly, indulged as Dafne's cheeks became scarlet, and she left the room in flight.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Mis amigos! Qué pasa? 8D I apologize for the delay, but it was necessary, as I had completely buried myself into Cessy's bio for the past few days! And believe me, I had brought the art of stalking to a whole new level. xD Anyway, it gave me a tad of new ideas, which I look forward to putting into words! 'Til then, enjoy the chap below! Also, school's starting in September, so I might not be able to update as I did before. Mi scusi. :( And I was quite inspired by Two Steps From Hell for this one, check 'em out, they're epic, literally! ;D Aight, shoo, go read now! And I might give you a cookie! Or two if you review, haha! :D**

**Notice - Italian phrases...Or sth...:**

_Che? - What?_

_Dannazione! - Dammit!_

_Allora? - So?/And?_

_Si - yes_

_Onorevole - honorable_

_Invitato - guest/invitee_

_Alle quatro ora da mezzanotte. - The fourth hour from midnight._

_Vi aspettiamo! - We are expecting you!_

_Va be'! - 'Kay!_

_Pardonatemi per il guasto. - Forgive me for the trouble._

_Niente - nothing_

_Merda - shit/crap_

_Tutto è bene? - Everything alright?_

_Idiota - idiot_

_Hai ragione. - You're right._

_Capisci? - Understand?_

_Presto! - Quickly!_

_Fazzoletto - kerchief/veil_

_Comè una Principessa. - Like a princess._

_Grazie! - Thank you!_

_Amico - friend_

_Buona sera! - Good evening!_

_Certo! - Of course!_

_Buffone - clown/fool_

_Il ponte - bridge_

_Cazzo - dick (in this case)_

_Canaglia - asshole_

_Ragazza - girl_

_La sua donzella - your damsel_

_Sciocca - silly_

* * *

**12. Winterhearted**

**~ Rome, 1496 ~**

It was January, and humanity had advanced into the new year but a few days ago, and the cool, though weak blizzard of snow had seized all of Rome, to the jubilance of the children and the annoyed, silent mumbling of the citizens. The astonishingly white snowflakes cheerfully crept from the heavens, carried away into the distance by the lenient, chilly breeze, or peacefully melting onto the ground.

But above all the crowds, above all the clamoring Heralds and coated passengers, far away from what they preach – she stood, atop the Castel of Sant'Angelo, enjoying one of the most beauteous views her eyes would ever provide.

Soon, the snowflakes were enjoined by the sharp, harshly algid rain, and the wind would fasten, smearing her into its wrath.

Dafne took a deep breath. The rain; a thousands of small razors cutting against her skin, as she stood in terrific silence, honoring the storms that resounded throughout the bright, morning firmament. And in that moment, the Florentine would bleed every care out, and feel at peace.

However, a loud, emphasized cough had managed to ruin the prestigious moment.

"Shouldn't you be inside? It's quite frosty these days," Micheletto muttered behind his scarf, lightly tapping Dafne's shoulder as he did. She smiled.

"I do not mind it. It's quite the same to me whether I am outside or concealed inside these days," she sneered, earning a sympathetic snicker from Micheletto.

"Ever the poet, are we?" he teased, "But I _might_ have _something _that might be able to _repair _your mood."

"Oh?" Dafne would inquire, as she began walking down the slippery stone wall of the Castello, followed by Micheletto.

He shivered slightly, as he urged the words out.

"Cesare is planning to set out into the Romagna again, and to that incidence, His Holiness is hosting a merriment in the honor of his son," Micheletto explained, observing as Dafne's frown became a smile.

But not for long.

"Ah, but doesn't that mean that he will be gone again soon?" the Florentine implied, grasping the doorknob of the tower's door and quickly descending down the stairs, as she heard a sly giggle from Micheletto's behalf.

"But that is not quite what I meant," he began again, but Dafne didn't reply. She reached the bottom before him and carelessly splashed through the small puddles of water that had formed due to melted snow. She passed by a guard patrol, and another, and another, but she would acknowledge none, as Micheletto struggled to keep up with her. Dafne skipped up the stairs and attempted to push the door to the Castello open, but to no avail, as it stood before her frozen.

"Che...?" weakly fluttered out of her lips as she bluntly watched the wooden barrier. She noticed that ice had seized the space in between the wings and the knob itself, and when she tried to turn it again, it wouldn't budge. Apparently, some servants did not feel their duty worthy enough to be executed.

"Dannazione!" Dafne hissed as Micheletto stood beside her. He snickered.

"You seem a bit tense," he confessed as he calmly grasped the doorknob and turned it with no visible difficulty, pulling it open in the same manner. Dafne huffed irritably.

"I just _hate _winter," she whined, entering the Castello with an earnest step to further expose her fret, not bothering to wait for the coal-haired man. Though he still managed to catch up with her.

"As I was saying, His Holiness will be hosting a celebration," he began again, urging Dafne to stop and face him.

"_Allora_? What does that have to do with me? I am but a servant!" she acclaimed, staggering from side to side as she crossed her arms, unnerved. Micheletto nodded.

"Si. But in order to attend, Cesare would need the company of a damsel. The original arrangement proposed that he would go with Donna Lucrezia, but since she is away at the given moment, he has entrusted me with finding someone else," he would explain, as Dafne's stare became blanker and blanker.

After a moment of uneasy silence, Micheletto cleared his throat, eager to continue.

"You are, if I remember right, of lofty origin, no?" he suggested, as a glimmer of realization dawned upon the Florentine.

Her jaw dropped as if in a manner to speak, but nothing but the hot, astir breath would come out of her throat, which seemed dead to her now.

However, she had managed to twitch her chin into something that was supposedly a nod, much to Micheletto's satisfaction.

"Then this is for you," he pulled out a heavily adorned golden scroll, confidently passing it over to Dafne and clasping her fingers around it himself, seeing as the Florentine was in no condition to even move a muscle herself. With an attentive grin, he tapped her shoulder, running off to his own business.

Dafne was at a helpless stalemate; but before she would engage into a cry of joy no one could appease, she rolled off the small scroll, lightly reading through the contents it bore:

_"Onorevole invitato,_

_In the honor of his Excellency the Pontiff's son, His Holiness is hosting a splendid celebration. It is to be held on the night of La Beffana at the Trestevere, alle quattro ore di mezzanotte. We would be delighted to have you among the guests of this considerable merriment to solemnize the new successful beginnings of our beloved Captain General. Vi aspettiamo!"_

* * *

"No!"

"This one?"

"No!"

"This one?"

Dafne groaned.

"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, her arms flailing, "I need something more prestigious, more..._Extravagant_! Special! It's not as though you can attend a celebration _that_ important every day."

The Tailor responded with a shrug.

"I had shown you the best dresses I possess, Signorina," he sighed, lying away the twentieth dress he had pulled out for the Florentine to see. She sighed helplessly.

"Eh, va be'. Pardonatemi per il guasto," Dafne muttered, feeling defeated. The Tailor replied with a hesitant 'niente,' as Dafne walked away from his little shop. Stepping farther and farther, enveloped in her cloak as protection from the severe cold of the ambience, she felt something, staunch and long, bump against her chest.

In the midst of the Forum, she stopped, reaching for the golden scroll, and allowing it to gracefully roll downward. She read through the nicely written invitation for what would seem like a millionth time.

Sighing, Dafne pressed it against herself; as excited and honored, not to mention flattered as she was to be able to accompany Cesare to an event like the latter, she was restless. Surely, it was expected of her to be dressed and to behave perfectly, and no mistakes would be tolerated.

The clothes she owned were gathering dust locked away in her chest for a few years now, but none of them she found fit for the occasion at hand.

Letting out another despaired breath, Dafne observed it dissolve into the atmosphere, soon escaping her view. Her mind emptying by the moment, the Florentine set out again, as the evening elusively approached the city of Rome...

* * *

Dafne rose up from her bed in a panicked manner; the celebration was coming tomorrow, and she had still not ceased to acquire the proper apparel.

"Merda, merda, _merda_!" she cursed, startling the servant that had just entered the room, bearing a tray with what was supposedly breakfast.

"Tutto è bene, Signorina?" he inquired cautiously, observing as Dafne sprang up from her bed sheets in an exasperated manner. She blessed him with a stern glare.

"_No_, _idiota_!" she strained through gritted teeth, grabbing her tunic off of the chair. But instead of it swiftly flying through the air in the desired direction, a ripping sound was heard. As she turned to inspect, Dafne gasped in surprise; her tunic was torn apart, the torso stuck onto the chair's support and sleeves lifelessly dangling from each side.

The Florentine growled, now more than furious. She tossed the tunic down, cursing at it with all she had.

But the servant was a tad more chilled. He carefully lied the tray away and approached the agitated female, a calm expression adorning his face.

"Whatever it is that ales you, I am sure it cannot be solved through anger," he inclined, and as Dafne huffed, attempting to fire back at him, her knitted brows relaxed, as she strived to even her breath slowly.

"Si, hai ragione," she admitted in desperation, lightly massaging her forehead in order to ease the boiling fret. What was supposed to be a seamless dream was quickly turning more and more into an awful nightmare, and she couldn't help but feel like a scoundrel as she thought this to herself. Perhaps she should tell Micheletto she had changed her mind, that she's not up for the task?

But no matter what, Dafne was aware that that would be the undermost of lies. Another helpless pant escaped her lips as she pensively crossed her arms, empty stare lost into the carpet below.

"Dario," she began without a warning, gaining the servant's attention, "If you were to go to an important event, were political figures of the most importance dwell in their own well-known craze, what would you dress like?"

A small pause resented, as Dafne decided to add another sentence.

"But, at the same time, you wish to be, how shall I put..._Special_. _Original_. Capisci?"

Dario's blunt orbs almost dejected the Florentine, but a few moments after, he smiled diligently.

"Hmm, the best advise this modest servitor could offer would be," he raised a finger in a suggestive manner, "Is that you be _yourself_, mia Donna."

Dafne watched as a grin crept upon his face, urging one out of her as well.

"Myself...?" she asked wistfully, as she eyed the chest, which was settled into the far corner of the room. Dario nodded.

"Si. There is no better thing to do," he proposed, turning to grasp the food he had brought again.

Dafne presented him with an honest smile, as endless gratitude shone in her verdant orbs. Now, she was confident, and knew exactly what to do.

* * *

"Presto! Hand me il fazzoletto!" she demanded hastily, and Dario was obedient; he grabbed the kerchief they had prepared hours ago, as Dafne placed it onto her shoulders with more tendance than ever before.

"There, I think that should be all," she respired, already exhausted, as she gazed towards the mirror, examining the reflection it would throw back. Her outfit consisted of nothing too perplexing; she wore a light, long-sleeved dress, colored in a majestic play of navy and silver. Her hair she had raised in a wealthy bun, decorated with flower-like wooden ornaments and a long, emerald tie that kept them all from falling apart. And for the finishing touch, the veil, that mystically rested on her shoulders and descended down her slender back.

No make-up, no disguise or mask was to be found on the Florentine's face. She was as natural as morning dew.

A hopeful smile danced on her lips as she gazed at the mirror, observing Dario, who stood beside her.

"Am I...Beautiful?" she questioned hazily, as the servant smiled.

"Si. Comè una Principessa," he praised, earning a weak giggle from Dafne.

"Grazie, amico. I am in your debt," she shook Dario's hand as the latter bowed.

"It is my duty, Signorina," he declared, and as Dafne cheerfully tapped his back, a few knocks were heard at the door.

The Florentine urgently made herself serious, as a scorn of anxiety raced down her chin.

As she listened to Dario's calm steps, Dafne gave it her best to try and relax. She deemed that the evening ahead would be one of the most memorable events of her life. And, in a way, she was right.

With a concealed screech, the door was spread open.

"Buona sera, Messer Corella," Dario greeted, as Micheletto politely returned the deed.

"Is she ready?" he asked, prompting an immediate reply from the servant.

"Si," the latter confirmed, stepping aside from the frame, and allowing Micheletto to witness Dafne in all of her new glory. The night-haired man was rendered breathless for a few long moments.

"Dafne?" he would whisper vaguely, snapping out of it eventually, "Is that you?"

The Florentine responded with a lenient snicker.

"_Certo_, _buffone_," she smiled, stepping towards Micheletto in an amused fashion. The latter seemed filled with content.

"Marvelous, marvelous. Cesare will be pleased," he acclaimed, dying Dafne's cheeks into pure scarlet.

"Ah, do me a favor..." she hissed, as Micheletto offered her his hand. As their fingers became intertwined, they stepped out of the room, Dafne throwing a dernier stare towards Dario, nodding in appreciation once more.

As the pair made their way down the wide corridor, Dafne felt herself ablaze; the atmosphere was indeed quite nippy, and snow seemed to be pouring behind the confined windows. But even so, the Florentine felt as if she was in the midst of summer, as she gracefully took each step forward, towards her light.

They were nearing the exit of the Castello, whence they heard an impatient exclaim.

"Do I pay you to watch il ponte or your cazzo? Back to your post, canaglia!"

"S-Si, Messere! Forgive me!"

Dafne and Micheletto had made their way through the initiating courtyard, and outside, marching towards the bridge. There, in the company of a few nervous guards, he stood, lavish and stunning, his arms crossed and head held high. His tall, muscular figure could be beautifully captured in his long, plated tunic, toned crimson. His trousers, tinted pale green, gave him a tad more royal appearance, as his long boots reached almost up to his knees. His rich, maroon locks were carefully combed.

He turned his head, narrowing his eyes to acknowledge the approaching pair.

"I had brought her, as you requested," Micheletto announced, releasing Dafne as he bowed.

Cesare smirked.

"Well, well..." he began with a mesmerized appeal, playfully grasping the Florentine's hand and planting a gentle kiss onto it. She could clearly feel the joyous shudders race down her spine, as they maintained the pose for less than a moment. A magic moment. A powerful moment.

"Shall we?" he proposed, now giving his own spread palm to Dafne, as she made an eager nod, grasping it with delight.

Cesare lead her to the far side of the Castel bridge, where a carriage was positioned. The coachman was steady in his seat, ready to yell on the slightest whim. Two horses were harnessed, one black, and the other the color of caramel.

The General allowed Dafne to climb into the carriage first, as he followed himself, closing the door somewhat intensely, as if to alarm the coachman that it was time to go.

And the latter seemed to have understood the message; a few seconds later, the horses began jogging, carrying their ordeal along. Dafne sat, restless. She knew the trip was not going to be a long one, but that did not mean it would be less memorable. This whole, subtle, sweet tension was engraving into her mind with each passing moment, as a smile refused to leave her mouth alone.

And Cesare did not fail in noticing this.

"Quite excited about the festivity, ragazza?" he began in a teasing manner, acquiring Dafne's attention right away.

She made a smile.

"Ah, well, to be honest, not really," she declared, her voice shaking as she spoke. Cesare arched a curious brow at her.

"Why is it, then, that you cannot stop making that silly face?" he laughed out, prompting Dafne to giggle too. She allowed herself to look at him attentively for but a moment, before she would avert her eyes from him again.

"I..." she said, her lips quivering as she twiddled her thumbs, "Well..."

A gulp raced down her neck as she struggled to breathe orderly. Was this the moment of truth?

She needed another small pause to deliver the words.

"I...I am honored to be la sua donzella, Signore."

Moments of uncertain silence ensued afterwards, as Dafne daringly raised her head, staring directly into Cesare's now blank orbs.

Shortly, though, the General started laughing, sincerely, wholeheartedly, as if he had never done it before. The Florentine giggled a bit herself, as she awaited further happenings.

But those would not be to her liking.

"La mia donzella, you say?" Cesare remarked in a sarcastic manner. Dafne, now somewhat distressed by his tone, yanked her chin into a nod. This earned her another fit of amused laughter from Cesare.

"Ah, you've got some spirit in you, now, do you not?" he said through snickers, rubbing his eyes to wipe the tears of rejoicing that threatened to fall down. Dafne was torpid.

"Che?" helplessly fluttered out of her lips, as she stared at Cesare, befuddled beyond imagining. All those feelings she had raging through her system were now beginning to silently fade away.

The General turned to face her, looking inquisitive, almost surprised.

"By all means, you cannot be serious when you say that! _Sciocca_ ragazza!" he touched Dafne's nose with the tip of his slender finger, as she observed his features, stunned.

More silence occurred, as the Florentine bluntly stared forward, unsure of what to think. Her head descended in withdrawn perjury, as her stare became void. Her jaw slightly dropped.

"But..."

Cesare watched her from a certain height, as he shook his head in disdain.

"Now now, keep your head out of the clouds. Know your place."

Dafne gasped; his words, though spoken slowly, with each words carefully highlighted, had cut deeper than any blade or enemy she had ever combated against. Biting her lip, the Florentine retreated to the other side of the carriage, as far as she could, gazing through the small window.

And quietly, disenchanted and bitter, the maiden wept; but her tears she would not dare show, as she leaned onto the carriage's side. The two would not exchange a word until the trip's end, and even then, Dafne had forbid herself to bless him with but a flicker.

The rest of what was supposed to be the most glorious evening of her life, she spent sitting, bitterly silent and indifferent, as moments sailed away like decades. She did not speak, she did not smile, she did not fret. It was as though death had claimed her for its own, as she waited, pale and lonely, waited to go back to her room, and cry the whole ocean out.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Woot! Quick update is quick! o3o But anyway, nothing much to say about this one, 'cept it's supposed to be pretty depressing. Does it look depressing to you? You tell me in a review, m'kay? Shoo, read! ;D**

**Notice - phrases in Italian or whatever the hell:**

_Fortuna - luck_

_Spagna - Spain_

_Da nessuna parte. - Nowhere._

_Che cos'è? - What is that?_

_Pronta? - Ready?_

_Principessa - princess_

_Si - yes_

_D'accordo! - Of course!/Alright!_

_Insieme alla fine? - Together to the end?_

_Pardonatemi! - Excuse me!/Pardon me!_

_I soldi - money_

_Disgustosa puttana dei Borgia! - Disgusting whore of the Borgia!_

_Per l'amore di Dio! - For the love of God!_

_Mia amica - my friend_

_Ma certo! - But of course!_

_Mia cara - my dear_

_Ma che...? - What the...?_

_Cazzo! - Fuck!_

_Buffone - clown/fool_

_Per che? - Why?_

_Addio! - Goodbye!_

_Requiescat in Pace - Rest in peace_

* * *

**13. A Friendly Debacle**

**~ Rome, 1496 ~**

The summer was nothing but an overture to the harsh, gory devastation of the cold to ensue, thought Dafne to herself. Moisture and the lack of wind was making the day greedy and long, and she did not enjoy it one bit. But in all honesty, it had been so long since the last time she felt rejoice, or smiled. Smiled dearly, truthfully, or just _smiled_ for the sake of it. The last time she smiled - it seems so long ago, a memory that fleeted and disappeared into nothing, a suppressed feeling of happiness and light that refused to come back.

Many times did she think the matters over, and each time, it would leave a greater, more delicate impact. She felt as though she was put on the verge of breakdown as the months flew by, and swift was the pain that aimed her mind and chest. Oh the foul thoughts of demise, of suicide and exile, all of which were evoked from the dark pits of a broken heart, of crushed hopes and unfulfilled dreams.

As she sat in silence of her room's confines, locked away from the rest of the world, she would weep, and then descend into a hopeless slumber. A slumber she did not want to awaken from ever again. For when you sleep with a heart so destroyed, so annihilated and neglected, waking up presents the hardest of all burdens.

And such was the undesired ordeal of Dafne Vespucci, once so merry and elegant a girl, who had thought peace could be discovered along with oneself. And the love of oneself. Whenever she was sane enough to think, she would conclude that her naivety and blindness was endless, and indeed, she was to _learn her place_. Such was her destiny, and to deny destiny was to deny life. Thus, she was never of defiant nature.

But the pain was still livid, still burning her where she didn't wish to have scars. The situation seemed to have become more despairing as the days went by, and Dafne had even found herself attending the holy service of God every Sunday, in hopes that the golden choirs of clerics and prayers could cleanse her blackened soul. But to no avail.

Confession would be, likewise, of no use, she deemed, as to tell any soul of her ales, aside from Micheletto, would be abominating and shaming for both herself and Cesare. Who was, by now, probably in a winning battle against the remainders of the Venetian mercenaries and tyrant reinforcements who shielded Monteriggioni, his next chosen target.

Ah, that Cesare Borgia, him and his beloved conquests, his now married sister, and - what was, by all means, unbeknownst to him - a massacred soul he had left behind since his departure.

Not only once had the thought of elope crossed the Florentine's mind. It began occurring to her almost every day, as the autumn caved and fouled the weather with rain. She would thoughtlessly stand at the window, her hands placed on the shaft as if she was caged, and she would stare, emptily and without a single flicker, as the droplets of water fell right in front of her, crashing down the wet glass. If anyone even tried to speak to her, to move her or just tap her shoulder - as Micheletto often did whenever he saw her in such trance - she would remain indifferent for but a moment, before withdrawn and swallowed tears would embark from her verdant orbs, and to her room she would run, ignorant of anything else.

"You must stop this madness! Look at yourself! You are dead more than you are alive!" her partner would demand, ruthless and agitated, but Dafne paid him no care. He didn't understand, he couldn't understand. But he would always spend time to sit beside and be there, when he was free. And at the very least, she had something to hold onto in this time of ugly crisis.

"You act as though fortuna had abandoned you completely," Micheletto once proposed, during the many hours of silence he had shared with the Florentine. And, though it became a rare occasion, she answered him this time, heavily clearing her throat, as she had strayed from speaking lately.

"He was the one who brought me fortuna. He does not want me, which means neither does that forsaken term you just made me use..." her tone was cold, but it lacked no meaning; Micheletto could almost feel the bonfire of buried retaliation somewhere among the green of her eyes; a reprisal so dissatisfied and bated, threatening to burst out at any moment.

But then, as suddenly as it appears, it vanishes, replaced, again, by the quiet, empty sorrow of a person who tended to keep to herself and was spared no desired care whatsoever. And because of this, Dafne often felt abused, seamlessly torn in half from the peak of her head to the very bottom of her heels. And again, she pondered betrayal, pondered escape, an exodus worse than that of the Jews banished from Spagna, some even taking shelter in the secure walls of the Vatican. She would often listen to them share stories of lost families, wrecked homes and so much more, and it would help her feel better about her own calamity.

And one day, when Dafne felt at utmost of pain, a desperate decision was made. Her chest was packed, her blades tied and sheathed, she had cloaked herself from the rain. And thus, she exited her room. But she would not be leaving just yet.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Micheletto inquired suspiciously, firmly holding a sealed envelope as he took off his dank cloak. Dafne lowered her chest at once.

"Da nessuna parte," she lied, as she eyed the envelope with curiosity, "Che cos'è?"

Micheletto observed her a little bit struck, seeing the life return to her so easily again. He raised the letter in the level of his nose, answering, "A letter from Cesare, he-"

"Give me that!" Dafne tossed her chest away, sprinting to Micheletto's side and hungrily grabbing the parchment out of his palm. He gasped in surprise as she unfolded it and her eyes ran from side to side, as if she was eating its very contents.

The Florentine divulged through the writing a few times, almost succeeding in tearing it in her strong grasp. Once she was finally satisfied, a light stream of hot tears flowed down her cheeks, which were now rosy again. A tingling feeling overcame her as she hugged the letter, pressing it against her chest, craving and agog, driven mad by the stalemate she had been going through for so long.

It was the very manner in which the letter was written; all of Cesare's sworn anger, brashness and intellect were contained between every symbol carved on that paper. Lethal and repulsive was the odium targeted for those who had crossed him; the mercenary captain, a shameless, Venetian bastard, Bartolomeo d'Alviano, and another enemy - the condemned Orsini son, Fabio. Together with Monteriggioni's leader, a renowned soldier, Mario Auditore, they had managed not only to come out of the fight victorious, but also to scar Cesare's face, as such not only giving him a physical, but also an internal, pride-crumbling wound, that hurt far worse. Each part of the oppression was to be punished throughly and with no remorse - such stated the Captain General's report.

The whole letter screamed Cesare Borgia. Screamed the man that she fell so easily, so deeply for.

And so, Dafne Vespucci smiled again, after months and months of crying and forced fracture. Fatigue abandoned her features as a cry of joyous laughter took over her senses, ensnaring her into a beautiful feeling she had not tasted for so long. There was no taint for her soul now, and all was forgotten, all settled behind, as she learned to laugh again.

Until that fathomable, excruciating autumn evening, that would drown her worse than ever before...

* * *

"Pronta?" Micheletto asked as he awaited Dafne in the corridor. Instead of answering, the Florentine came out of her room, giving him a light nod, and thus, a smile.

"It is nice to have you back, _Principessa_," the man hummed merrily, prompting rejoice out of them both. But nevertheless, they had other matters to dwell upon.

"I will take care of the one in il Vaticano, you extinguish the one in the Centro, si?" an agreement was met straightaway.

"D'accordo. Insieme alla fine?" Dafne asked, and Micheletto smiled, as they parted, each to their own respective task. Two outbursts have been made due to taxes raised for the benefit of Cesare's campaign, and although these matters concerned the Cardinals only, they had used their influence on the citizens and had paid them to protest and cry in anger against the Pope's Holiness. And that was utterly unnecessary.

As determined, Dafne made her way on the rooftops of Rome, attempting to uncover the location of the riot. And she had found it soon enough.

A small mob of clamoring people was marching around the fountain in front of the Pantheon, and laughable was the show they displayed; clothes purposely torn and faces dirty, infinitely to increase the impact they were supposed to give. But they seemed to have not gathered a single follower through a few minutes in which the Florentine was watching. And then, she had deemed to give a proper end to this farce.

"Pardonatemi," she strutted her way to the group with a careless appeal, "But I bear an offer none of you can turn down."

The citizens seemed phased for a moment, as they eloquently fell into whispering among themselves. And Dafne continued.

"I'm giving you exactly _one minute_ to make yourselves scarce, or else, I shall see to it that not only i soldi you had been given to perform be taken from you, but your lives as well," her tone was confident and clear, and no loose ends could be found in her behavior. The protesters gave into whispering once again, before one finally stood to declare.

"Disgustosa puttana dei Borgia! We are honest in our work, which cannot be applied for you! Get lost!"

As soon as he'd finished, the man grabbed a stone from the ground below and threw it directly towards Dafne, who merely stepped to the side to avoid it. Seemingly sharing the man's feelings, the rest of the citizens yelled their own respective insults, throwing more and more pebbles.

This, however, did not manage to upset the Florentine; she knew what to do with reluctant mercenaries who refused to accept redemption even if you placed it right under their noses.

Her blade shone as she ran forward.

The first victim did not even have time to react before the sword would cut his throat. Another was already engaging to escape, but with no success, as Dafne simply extended her arm in order to pierce through the woman's abdomen. The vivid corpses hit the ground, washed into the stern frost of the rain, as Dafne claimed yer another, and another victim.

Soon, a bloodbath adorned the Pantheon's superb entrance, as most of the people had managed to flee, but a few of them still stood tall. And one the Florentine recognized, much to her dismay.

"Bianca...?"

The blond seemed ignorant to the inquiry.

"Borgia dog! How dare you call my name?!"

Dafne stood frozen, as her scarf fell under the rain's wrath, revealing her features. A few long moments passed until Bianca finally comprehended who it was that stood before her. Who wrought carnage of the people, who she threw dozens of insults at, and whom she - supposedly - hated.

"Dafne...?"

The Florentine gulped, as she held her blade firmly.

"Oh, per l'amore di Dio...No...Please..."

Bianca sounded hopeless; she refused to believe it was true. That cannot be her friend. It wasn't possible.

Dafne could only lower her head in despair.

"No...So this is what you've become...?"

She bit her lip.

"Bianca...I..."

The blonde shook her head, deep inside of her own denial.

"No...I refuse to believe...It cannot..._You_ cannot..."

Dafne twitched.

"Stop it! It doesn't have to be like this, Bianca! We could be together again! The two of us, two friends, two comrades! Together in both good and bad! Just like before!"

But Bianca's head was shaken yet again.

"No, it cannot. And you know it. You had severed it back then...Left me with nothing and no one...Oh God knows it's been so long..."

Dafne's anger slowly faded thanks to these words, and was thus replaced by an obvious feeling of guilt. Of dread.

And blue eyes would meet green ones; one would judge, the other would pity. But none would utter a single word.

Instead, Bianca ran, and as Dafne eyed her warily, without knowledge of what to do, she took her stance. And to the surprise of both Dafne and the spectators, the blond embraced her friend, gracefully, lovingly, with a smile. And yet again, the Florentine found herself frozen, struggling to maintain the strength in her knees. Bianca caressed her back, as they stood in the rain, together, soaked to their very bones. But it didn't matter.

"Dafne?" Bianca asked.

"Yes?" Dafne replied.

"I am sorry...I am sorry to have given you grief back when you departed. I should have known that you are the carver of your own route. I was in such ugly, shallow rage, and I could not cope with it at the time. I had also denied you one last embrace. And so, I give it to you now. Please, forgive me, mia amica."

A tear made its way down Dafne's cheek as Bianca concluded her speech.

"Ma certo, of course I forgive you, mia cara. Though there is nothing to really forgive. I understand you completely," she answered, engulfed in joy and squalor at the same time. She was unsure whether to cry or laugh, as these two urges overflowed her in a glorious fashion.

As she went to hug her dear friend back, Bianca stopped her hand, in which the sword was held.

"But still, I cannot enjoin you on your current journey, as much as I love you. It is not what I believe. And also..."

Dafne was befuddled; what on earth was Bianca saying? But the blond giggled significantly.

"It would be an honor to meet my end by your hand."

The Florentine winced.

"Ma che-?"

But it was already too late; Bianca's blood spilled all over Dafne's robes as the latter coughed her agony away.

"No!" Dafne exclaimed in repercussion, as she pulled the sword out of Bianca's trembling body. She tossed the weapon away as she eyed her surroundings.

"Cazzo! There must be a Dottore nearby-"

"No..."

Bianca's weep made its way to Dafne's ears, as she was still deep within the Florentine's firm grasp, blood massing inside of her mouth. Her own grip was becoming weaker and weaker by the moment's passing. As Dafne frantically opened her mouth, Bianca laughed softly.

"Buffone...It is too late for me now..."

And it was true. And it was a term the Florentine hated most at the given moment. She bit her lip, aware of what was to ensue.

"Per che? Per che, Bianca? We could've..."

But she was cut off by another fit of coughs from Bianca's behalf.

"I told you...I could not...Do it...I could not take it...It wasn't for me...Never would be...And thus," she smiled, "I was in the Assassin service. Either you would've killed me, or...Vice versa..."

Dafne's eyes widened at this revelation.

"But," Bianca proceeded, ignoring the pain that was slowly but surely extinguishing the life out of her, "I know how fiery you can be...And how easy it is for you to be happy...You are given little, and it is enough...And I am sure...Your master...Is one lucky man...A happy man...For having such a loyal servant..."

Another gasp fluttered out of Bianca's lips; and at this point, Dafne was shedding more tears than the rain could provide droplets. The blond tapped her back knowingly.

"Pursue...What you love...I don't blame you for a thing..."

The Florentine tightened her grip, beginning to shake herself. And Bianca would give one last pull.

"Addio, mia cara Dafne...Take care...For your sake..."

Her dying breath she had left on Dafne's shoulder, and its hot presence lingered there for a long time. The rain drummed onto the two embraced figures, as Dafne lied the corpse onto solid ground.

"Requiescat in Pace, my oldest friend..." meekly grasping the dead girl's hand, Dafne had brought it to her lips, mourning silently, to the sound of the pouring rain, as the people encircled her and observed in curiosity and awe the debacle that was left of all of those who dared to defy the Borgia.

And the rain poured, harder, faster, louder, as Dafne felt her own heartbeat weaken, slower, shallower, lower, as she refused to let go off Bianca's hand. To her, she was still alive. She would move any moment now. Stand up, and call her a buffone. There, was that a twitch just now? A nod, a breath, a smile...A lie.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I think this one's my favorite up until now, and I think you kiddies will be able to guess why. xD Been playing with emotions and sociology a bit here, dunno if I did any good or if anything makes any actual sense. You tell me. And slooooooow foreplay is sloooooooow. Goddammit. A warning: this is where the M rating seriously kicks in. You have been warned. Don't come crying to me later. x'3 No worries, though, it's nothing hardcore, 'cause I'm a scaredy cat. I tried though. I really have. Don't judge me with those pretty eyes of yours! xD Though I do promise, _that_ will come...Later. In details. Maybe. Hopefully. Awkward. God. Now shoo! Why do you people read these anyway? :D**

**Notice - blah blah blah:**

_Vieni! - Come!_

_Bella mia - my dear (lit. my beautiful)_

_Buongiorno! - Good day!/Hello!_

_Tesoro - darling/honey (lit. treasure)_

_Grazie mille! - Thanks a million!_

_Grazie a te. - Thank _you_._

_Come stai? - How are you?_

_Mia cara - my dear_

_Vedi! - Look!_

_Chi è? - Who is it?_

_Fatti vedere! - Show yourself!_

_Presto! - Quickly!_

_Stronzo! - fool/idiot/asshole_

_Ma certo! - But of course!_

_Vola il tempo. - Time flies._

_Si - yes_

_Mi scusi! - Forgive me!/Pardon me!_

_Amico - friend_

_Bene! - Good!/Alright!_

_Non lo so. - I don't know._

_Ragazza - girl_

_La verità - the truth_

_Molto curioso - very curious_

_È così? - Is that so?_

_Ora - now_

_Che? - What?_

_Sciocca - foolish_

_Ma che cazzo? - What the fuck?_

_Ieri sera - last night_

* * *

**14. Fool's Devotion**

**~ Rome/Romagna, 1497 ~**

The aged, small flower-seller smiled as he noticed Dafne approach him.

"Vieni, bella mia, vieni!" he cried, limping forward to welcome her. The Florentine acknowledged with a nod.

"Buongiorno," she replied, shaking hands with the excited little fellow.

"How can I be of service, tesoro?" he squeaked, as Dafne pondered a moment.

"The usual," she sighed, motioning towards the roses. The merchant nodded, running to serve her. He picked three of the reddest, longest roses, their thorns brisk and stems still fresh and green, as they were divided from their mother earth this very morning. Dafne smiled as she took them out of his tiny hands, gifting him three florins in return.

"Grazie, grazie mille!" he immediately placed the money in his bag, earning a small giggle from Dafne with his sympathetic liveliness.

"Grazie a te," she replied, and observed the roses for a couple of seconds. Their diligent, majestic scent was quickly captivated inside of her nostrils, giving her a blessing feeling of delight and vigor. Satisfied, Dafne proceeded forth, only to be stopped by the merchant again.

"I had noticed," he began, "That you've been buying my roses every single week for the past several months. May I know the cause?"

The Florentine's lips became crude as she eyed the man, some concealed bitterness playing in her orbs.

"A friend of mine..." she made a small pause in her answer, as words needed time to thrive in her throat, "Really loves roses. So I buy them and bring them to her every once a week."

This seemed to have indulged the energetic seller, as he presented his understanding with a deep nod. And with this, Dafne would rally through the crowds, silent as she made her way down the roads of Campagna. Nothing seemed out of place, she thought, passing by a Borgia tower located near the Castra Praetoria.

She would walk a bit further, reaching a small bosk and finally stopping there.

A sigh escaped her lips as she approached the tombstone that was peacefully settled under one big, heavy pine. Dafne stood, lost in notion, eyes shut and lips shaking to create the words of a soundless prayer. Once this was done, the Florentine would untie her braid and use the emerald ribbon to knot the flowers together. Wiping some dust the wind had gathered off of the grave, she gracefully dropped on her knees, and with unseen care, placed the roses in front of it, crossing herself three times, and murmuring another prayer. A sanctified hush ensued, as Dafne pressed her arms together and mourned, mourned the loss, it seemed, she would never manage to fill.

Minutes after, she was seated on the ground, observing the tombstone with a mushed feeling of grief and yearn.

"Come stai, mia cara Bianca?"

But the reply to her question never came. Even so, Dafne smiled.

"I hope you are doing good, wherever you might be now..." her voice had gotten trapped somewhere in the confines of her neck, beginning to burn and descend downward to her chest in a bonfire of brutal ache.

It was as though it had all played out just yesterday, as the memory of the bloodied rain fleeted and crawled right before her eyes. Dafne bit her lip.

"These hands...These hands had buried you...Sent you to God..." she spoke keenly, as if the cold, harsh stone was alive and could hear her, "It is me to be blamed for it all, isn't it...?"

But she would be gifted with nothing but silence, and the whistling of the hot, lonely summer breeze. Dafne sighed.

"I don't think I can take it, Bianca...There is just too much for me to carry, in this wild tempest of war and bloodshed, and all I can do is seek forgiveness, and lurk through the shadows, like an impostor."

She placed her hand on the tombstone's peak.

"What am I to do, Bianca? You had told me...To pursue what I love...But what if this 'love' only leads into a dreadful, bottomless pit, from which I might not be able to ever escape? What will I do when it becomes too late?"

Dafne looked down toward the stone, forming a slight smile as she caressed it.

"I will think of you. For...I cannot cease to turn away. So many times had I tried, so many times, mia cara...God knows of my ales, and my shameful weakness. But, vedi, here I sit, right beside you, endowed in _his_ clothes, carrying _his_ weapons and bearing _his_ crest...Taking life for _his_ cause..."

She huddled her knees and held them tightly, as her head hurled down, onto them, meaning that another confession had reached its end.

Dafne would usually sit like this for hours and hours when she could afford, feeling as though she was accompanying the grave, and that her friend's soul was hovering right beside her, though invisible, listening to everything she uttered and promising to tell no one of what she heard. And it would make the Florentine a tad more rejoiced, this beauteous delusion; it would provide her a place to hide, where she could run away from all the toil and trouble and open up entirely.

But this time, a slight rustle in the bush nearby had triggered Dafne alert.

"Hm?" she rose her head, impaling around warily; she couldn't have imagined it. She could feel the sword cut against her thigh as she became anxious.

"Chi è?" Dafne would scream out ruthlessly, "Fatti vedere! Presto!"

As there was no answer, she was already up on her feet, the blade extending in her palm, as she pointed it forward.

"I give you one more chance before I strike, stronzo! _Out_!"

And it seemed the man had decided to comply to her wish, which, in all honesty, was not as the Florentine expected.

A few claps resounded through the air, as Dafne paled frightfully.

"I'm surprised you took notice of me, my disguise was benign," a hood, a sash, and that cruel shape as a blazon; an Assassin, and not just any.

"Messer Niccolò! What a..._Pleasant_ surprise," Dafne sheathed her blade, "To what do I owe this honor?"

The Maestro seemed offended by the act of sheathing, but nevertheless, he spoke with a smile.

"If my memory serves me good, you and I have some...Unfinished business. Is it not true, Lauro?"

Dafne welcomed this proposal with a lenient laughter.

"Ma certo, how could I forget? Although, I cannot help but notice, you had delayed the deed quite a bit...Three years, wasn't it? Vola il tempo," her inquiry was, by all means, enveloped in sarcasm, as she tired to see beyond her adversary's back.

Machiavelli nodded.

"Si. I apologize for making you wait. I did not want to interrupt your _session_ either," he spat back, as Dafne spread her arms, ignoring the other part of his sentence, though it did cut a sensitive spot.

"Ah, but I understand. We _Florentines_ do like taking our time, no?"

Niccolò processed the sentence for a few seconds, as an invaluable revelation was contained in it.

"Oh? You too are from the beautiful Repubblica Fiorentina? I had not known this," he remarked, mildly struck, as Dafne smiled, lowering her arms.

"Rare are those who do," on a whim, her hand was on her knife, as she threw it with all the might she could provide. Murmuring an apology to the tombstone, Dafne took flight, as she heard rushing steps behind herself, which urged her to increase the pace.

But luckily, the chase did not last for long.

"Guards!" Micheletto ordered the moment he saw the Florentine approach. The patrol obeyed, and as Machiavelli was alone, he quickly turned away.

"Where the hell were you?! I had searched everywhere! You've no idea how much you'd scared me!" Micheletto furiously lectured Dafne, concluding, however, in a much friendlier demeanor, "Don't do that again. You know the Assassini might be lurking behind any corner."

Dafne nodded.

"Mi scusi, amico. I had...An exigent affair to attend to," she explained, throwing a quick glance to where she just fled from.

The two partners walked down, back into the Centro.

"I had exchanged a few letters with Cesare some days ago, and tomorrow, I am to travel to the Romagna and watch over an important shipment of slaves, as provided by Silvestro Sabbatini. Once that is done, we shall come for Cesare and bring him back to Roma."

Dafne blinked as Micheletto silenced.

"_We_?" she barked, frowning, "Didn't you say _you_ would go?"

At this, Micheletto made a shrewd smile.

"Ah, but do you not want to come? I had implied that you do," he teased, but seeing as Dafne's expression remained dark, he shrugged.

"Bene. Stay here then."

The Florentine suddenly stopped, arousing Micheletto's attention. Her head she had lowered, as if in shame, unspoken for a long couple of seconds.

"Non lo so, Micheletto, non lo so," she sighed hopelessly, as her hair danced on the wind. She eyed Micheletto with a profound, hidden affliction, awaiting him to clear it up for her, to give his judgement. If only he could.

The night-haired man sighed, tiredly scratching his head.

"It is up to you. I cannot order you around, in the end."

Dafne took a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Micheletto waited, and she was thankful for it, as they both already knew what the answer will be.

* * *

"Abroad, you lazy twats! Faster, faster!"

To say that Dafne was disgusted by the act displayed before her would be the undermost of lies; she wanted to vomit on the spot.

"I said, _faster_!" the stooped, bearded man pushed the child into the carriage, merciless and foul. As he attempted to apply the same means on another, Dafne could not bear it anymore.

"Do not treat them like they're dirt!" she stood beside the man, firmly grasping his hand and preventing him from pushing the child, who, frightened, ran straight after his mate.

The figure gritted his dirty teeth towards her.

"I _own_ them, ragazza. I can do with them as I please," he strained, prompting Dafne to turn away; for as much as she would wish to deny it, the slaver was right. Walking away from him with haste, she enjoined Micheletto, who tended to the other equipped carts.

"Is this really necessary?" she inquired, exasperated. Micheletto had not averted his eyes from the carriage.

"We can never turn down additional coin," he answered with cold simplicity, as Dafne became aware that she was to either cope with the situation or die.

"That Sabbatini," she motioned towards the slaver, "He retches me."

Micheletto coughed.

"He does so no less to me. But orders are orders."

And to this Dafne had to agree; her devotion would allow her nothing else.

* * *

"It is not far from here," Micheletto informed as he cringed, closing the carriage's door. Dafne gulped.

"I'm just glad this abomination is over..." she whispered, brushing her fingers over her forehead. And the carriage was moving again.

"Si," Micheletto hummed, observing the outskirts as they sat in silence. And the Florentine could almost grasp the risen anxiety that had cloaked her so tightly, and tightened with each turn of the wheels and each step the horses would make.

Soon enough, she began biting her nails, hazy and feeling dizzy as she lost herself to the sounds of the outside; the birdsong, litters, trot, the burble of the river from far away. Or was she imagining it all? Was it all still reality? She could not determine. She could not determine a thing. Insecure and tired, she slowly but surely began her slumber, which would use for shortening the trip a bit.

It seemed as though only a minute had passed when Micheletto tapped her awake.

"Up and at 'em, Dafne! We've made it!" he announced with content, exiting the carriage. The buzz and the work of the outside had managed to push her out as well soon enough. What she witnessed was an estate more than an encampment; there lied a myriad of tents and even more soldiers were dwelling in between them, all armed and ready.

"This way!" Micheletto called out from a certain distance, prompting Dafne to come after him. He walked among the sea of tents as if he was born there, whereas the Florentine was having a hard time not getting lost inter the rabble of warriors.

And as they reached the very middle of the camp, Micheletto pointed towards the tent most splendid and the one that towered all the rest with no difficulty.

"We're here!" the man would announce, happier than ever, as Dafne comprehended where _here_ was with a jolt.

"I...I'll stay outside," she immediately stopped and stood in place like a statue. Micheletto gave her a glance of conviction, before entering the rich tent.

Dafne could almost feel the heat rush into her cheeks, burning as she eyed her surroundings with no particular interest. Dusk was slowly prevailing over the dying horizon, pushing the sun lower and lower by each minute. Observing the sunset - as she often would - Dafne took off her hood, a feeling of melancholy distressful inside of her chest.

"Whenever you are ready, Cesare," she heard Micheletto vow from the tent, and she couldn't help but drive a tad closer to hear more distinctly.

"You came alone?" Cesare inquired politely, although Dafne could swear that a note of swaying deprivation has ceased to lower his tone for an octave from the usual. And she would notice this, of course, as she came closer and closer, hands almost on the tent now.

She nervously anticipated Micheletto's answer.

"No," he would speak, as the Florentine began sweating, "Dafne is with me."

An awkward silence resented through the air, as Dafne couldn't determine what was happening for a period.

And finally, Cesare's reply.

"Bring her in."

Dafne could feel herself falling beneath firm soil as gulps evoked down her throat in multitude.

"But, when I had called her to come the first time, she had declined," to this, a loud stomp to the ground was heard.

"Then I will drag her in _myself_," Cesare's voice became louder as he drew closer to Dafne, and she braced herself for impact.

Soon, a head so formidable popped out of the tent's confines; his features enlightened by the rays of the dying sun, a grin broadened upon his face as he spotted the Florentine lurking right beside the entrance, freezing her momentarily. Dafne saw the newly-gained wounds scar his face as he spread his arm toward her, his navy eyes gleaming.

"Ragazza! Micheletto tells me that you do not wish to see me. Do tell me it is not la verità!"

The Florentine dramatically averted her gaze from his hand, biting her lip as if on the verge of her patience. She had not uttered a word.

"Oh?"

But Cesare's low exclaim had not managed to fix the broken impression; Dafne had her head firmly fixated to the side, her cheeks as rosy as ever. For once, she had shown resistance, and she wasn't quite sure whether she regretted it or not.

Well, Cesare was there to convince her.

"Molto curioso..."

A retreating step came from Cesare's behalf, prompting Dafne to gaze back at him. But he had already disappeared behind the leather veils of the entrance.

Damning her own self to hell for not overcoming the urge to peek, the most unexpected took wrath upon her. As soon as her nose had reached inside, she was strongly pulled forward. Feeling a hot, fastened breath heave on her neck for the slightest of seconds, she was aimed for and pushed onto the bed, placed just in the corner of the opulent tent.

As she rolled around the soft, aromatic sheets, Dafne glanced behind herself, attempting to stand up. But Cesare had brought her back down in quick repercussion, muttering a weak, yet powerful, "_Down_." And she would obey.

"You are dismissed," he suggested to Micheletto matter-of-factly, as the latter nodded, exiting the tent, ignorant of Dafne's silent pleas indicated towards him. Her head fell down in desperation.

For his part, Cesare walked back to the table settled in the middle of the tent, and stood before it; many maps, documents and parchments were lying unfolded, revealing their contents to his tireless eye. He studied the maps with such focus and commitment, such unfaltering vigor, dragging his fingers over from one side to the other, his interminably ambitious mind taking him God knows where.

Dafne had crawled upward to the pillow, grasping it, and observing. And observe she did, refusing to blink, refusing to rob herself off of one single moment of the sight she found so adorable. She hated to love him, hated to feel moved each time his two, blue-tinted lanterns would fall on her with such weight, hated to feel the urge, the need of his lips on hers, hated to give him her smile each time he would give her his.

But that was exactly why Dafne loved him; because he would give her all of these strange feelings despite her own will. No denial could overthrow this burning lust that thrived deeply in the back of her gut.

"Signore..."

Seeing as Cesare hadn't replied, Dafne brought herself a little bit higher.

"Signore...I...I apologize for my behavior from earlier. I was...Infatuated," her voice was almost in the level of a whisper, but nevertheless, Cesare could comprehend her words.

"È così?" he would inquire, sounding disinterested. His eyes were still firmly fixed onto the map before him, as his finger quickly hurled from Bologna, over Ferrara, along the coast of Romagna, all the way south, finally to meet halt at Naples.

Dafne felt dishonored. She finally doffed her eyes off the Captain General, turning to lay on her hip to the opposite side. She stared into the empty, beige leather, one hand cupping her cheek and the other freely spurting forward. She never wanted to move again. To lie like this, forever, not having a single care in the world. No craves, no battles, no blood...Just the appeasing, savory bed, and the silence. Such magnificent silence, to fill the futile air she would breathe.

The tensing from before seemed to have fleeted away with these musings; Dafne could say she felt at peace, but-

"Tired?"

She almost jumped as Cesare's hand grasped her shoulder; and another helpless wince occurred as she rolled to face him. He had that perpetuating, perplexed appeal to his smirk, and Dafne could feel those malevolent eyes judge her from head to toe.

"A little," she replied, gulping as Cesare's hand went from her shoulder over to her face.

"Then rest," he proposed with persuasion, as Dafne forcefully shut her eyes, her face twitching as she inwardly pledged not to spare him another glance. It was because of him that she became what she is today. All because of him.

To this end, Cesare's hand cupped her chin, making her fretfully raise her lids.

"What is the matter with you? You've changed!" but Dafne had bolstered her jaw, biting her lip as she tried to set herself free. But Cesare's grip was far stronger than she could best.

"Speak to me."

She didn't.

"It is an _order_. Ora!"

Her temper lost, Dafne gritted her teeth at him.

"Should I speak sincerely, or what you would like to hear?"

Cesare welcomed this with widened eyes; where had such bold valor surface from all of a sudden? He loosened his grip, much to Dafne's surprise.

"Sincerely," he demanded, as he lied just beside Dafne, his eyes narrowing as he watched her intently. The Florentine had not anticipated this kind of reaction. As silence resented, Cesare was eager to show his impatience.

"Well then? Speak, I'm listening," he declared, not seeming to peer his eyes from Dafne's now dreaded figure.

Suddenly, all of the rebellion and fury she had shown but a second ago, faded away as he was so near to her now. A jolt raced down her spine as her lips anxiously parted, but nothing was to come out. It was as though some kind of malicious barrier was preventing her from ridding of all the burdens and ordeals she had been forced to bear for so long. It was in the way of the freedom. Or so it seemed.

But Dafne knew; if she doesn't tell him now, who knows when will she receive another chance? Never, perhaps? She shuddered at the thought.

"Bene, I will," she spat back weakly, as Cesare appeared earnest to see how far was she willing to go.

"Be out with it then," he emboldened, flexing his arm and leaning onto his elbow, creating a curious expression.

But Dafne decided not to hesitate this time.

"Why?" she began wistfully, as Cesare knitted his brows, "Why give me false hopes with deeds like this? Why throw such cold, mocking ignorance straight into my face? You love _her_..." she gulped, careful to omit revealing her own feelings, "You spread your whole hand and caress her cheek with it, whereas your other hand you had given to me, but not whole; only one finger. And even that you tend to divest me of. I do not want that."

Silence, it was mild to say awkward, had ensued between them yet again. Little could Cesare even suppose that he would be given these bitter words. He watched Dafne's orbs become watery as she concluded her speech, but she didn't seem to feel how she wanted, even after making this confession.

However, a crooked smile played on Cesare's lips as his hand occupied her chin again, making her face him.

"I give you my entire arm with my body now."

Dafne gaped.

"C-Che?"

Cesare couldn't help but laugh at her childlike fear.

"_Sciocca ragazza_," he playfully tapped her nose with his finger, "I cannot concede with you bearing such unsightly thoughts. Therefore, I shall see to it that they be mended."

Dafne was paralyzed; Cesare tenderly wrought his finger up and down her cheek, adding coaxingly, "You _will_ crave me, Dafne Vespucci."

As the Florentine finally began to realize what was going on, Cesare already had his lips pressed to hers; she would protest, she really would, but the feeling was...So perfect, so lovely to be denied.

On a whim, Cesare pulled Dafne downward, under himself; he stared, charmed by the deep, endless void of the green of her eyes. A lot of things he could see in those beautiful, vacant eyes, but one thing would absolutely outshine the rest. It was he himself. He could clearly see each bit of his soul, his word and very being carefully carved into these two, perplexing circles, whose owner now trembled under his touch, pained with desperate yearning, longing, waiting...For so long.

He held her closer, nearer, her hot breath covering his face, shattering his ales, his fears and troubles, leaving him with nothing but blind, inveigling desire to have her, claim her.

Before Dafne could react, another kiss came from Cesare's behalf; only this time, it was a tad more humming, graceless in leaving saliva all over her mouth. And all Dafne could do was relax and let go. And in all honesty, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Once she felt doughty enough to start kissing back, Cesare's hands began exploring her bosom, trying to figure out how to unbutton the tunic. But as he had experience on the matter - and oh was he proud of it - he quickly succeeded in his goal, baring the Florentine into her undershirt. With that he was less diligent; he tore it apart, merciless and impatient as he was.

Now denuded, Dafne lied underneath him, her arms settled back above her head, as a sign of utter surrender to the Captain General, and a begging starve for more glimmering in her orbs. And now, with a devilish grin, he would begin his conquest.

* * *

The white of the tent spun around her like a whirlpool, as she couldn't remember her whereabouts nor what she did in the last several hours whatsoever. Unnerved, she went to roll back and groan, but what she saw was more than she would bargain for.

A loud, exasperated shriek escaped her lips, succeeding in waking Cesare instantly.

"Ma che cazzo?!" he growled drowsily, but as Dafne's wrought up, naked figure appeared before him, his mood quickly changed.

"Ah, ragazza!" he snickered teasingly, "_Enjoyed yourself ieri sera_?"

Crazed with trepidation, Dafne glanced down at herself; naked, as if just born. She bit her lip, wishing to melt away from shame. Cesare laughed at her with disdain.

"I thought it was quite..._Adventurous_. You would blush and scream on me every five seconds though," he described with more than pleasure adorning his voice, as he laid back onto the pillow, revealing his own broad, muscled chest. Dafne felt as though all of her blood had gathered up into her face at the moment. She opened her mouth to apologize, but it would seem the embarrassment that had cloaked her was stronger than her throat.

But that set aside, she gripped her own slope of the pillow, watchful of the now slumbering man before her. Upon his face laid a satisfied smile, and it was the greatest of honors to know that it was she who evoked it.

Vigilant of not waking him up anew, Dafne clung onto Cesare's arm, meekly placing her head on his shoulder. And as she felt his arm mantle around her, she perceived herself as the beloved, esteemed laurel of Caesar himself.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: 'Eeey, sup gangsters? Long time no write, I know, but I got sick again, so I had a lot of issues concerning this and that, and thus, I was working on a poem for Cessy's birthday rather than on anything else. And I finished it on time, believe it or not! Anyway, I'll try and finish the next chap quickly (it's half done), so there shouldn't be this big of a delay for that. Nothing particularly long, but 'tis sufficient I hope. Also, I can finally bash Lucrezia ova here! Muahahaha, I am too goddamn happy about that. Scary. ):D But anyway, hope you enjoy these two, and there will be cookies for reviews as always! ^^**

**Notice - Italian:**

_Merda - shit/crap_

_Bene! - Alright!/Good!_

_Dottore - doctor_

_Il Diavolo - The Devil_

_Che? - What?_

_Si - yes_

_A dopo! - Later!/See you later!_

_Buffone - fool/clown_

_Calmati! - Calm down!_

_Buono - good/nice_

_Mi scusi! - Forgive me!_

_Mio caro - my dear_

_Certo! - Of course!_

_Avanti! - Forward!_

_Grazie! - Thank you!_

_Sporca puttana - filthy whore_

_Cara mia - my dear_

_Troia - bitch/whore_

_Padrone - master_

_Capisco. - I see./I understand._

_Biguardo - liar/fraud_

_Intesi? - Understood?_

**Aaaaand featuring Latin in this chap too! :D**

_Beatus vir qui suffert tentationem. - Blessed is he who suffers temptation._

**P.S. If you notice the Ralph Emerson and Elfen Lied references, bless your face.**

* * *

**15. Envy Is Ignorance**

**~ Rome, 1498 ~**

"That's insane!"

Micheletto shook his head.

"I am telling you for your own good. You would be risking too much."

Dafne bit her lip, anxiously staring down at her stomach.

"No! I refuse! It simply _can't_...I mean..."

Micheletto peered back at her.

"In any case, you won't confute a thing with words. Better go and be safe than live in suspense."

And the Florentine knew he was right.

"Merda..." she hissed, slamming her palm straight into her forehead. Only now did she realize how foolish and careless she was last summer. Never did it occur to her, this possibility, so severe and complex, all for the sake of one night of pleasure. The responsibility would be the most earnest one yet, if the suspicion is to be confirmed. Oh, what she would give to return back in time...

"Bene. Where should I go? To a Dottore?"

Micheletto shrugged.

"I'd rather propose a nunnery. There is one just east to the Mausoleo di Augusto. Seek Sister Celestina, she will show you succor. Also, tell her that," a devilish grin propped on his face as he added, "Il Diavolo sends his regards, and hopes to see her soon."

Dafne knitted her brows.

"Che? _Il Diavolo_?" she inquired befuddled, as Micheletto brushed through his hair suggestively.

"Si. She'll understand. Go now, a dopo!" he waved in dismissal, quickly disappearing from sight, as Dafne pondered another moment until she finally comprehended what the buffone meant.

"These ecclesiastical folks aren't as clean as they claim to be," she murmured under her breath, as she retired to her room with a sigh.

* * *

Dafne gulped. It would take some courage for her to make this knock, but as the thought shook her once more, her hand went forward as if on its own.

Frantically, she jumped back as the door screeched and a strong hand almost tore her dress off as she felt herself pulled.

"Che? Who are you?! Who sends you!? Why did you appear?!" a girl, no less than Dafne's age, threw flustered inquiries, as her nose sided with Dafne's and some of her spit got onto the Florentine's face. She tried to push the aggressor back, but the latter refused to be compelled, as her hand moved upward, wrapping around Dafne's neck.

As the Florentine began to lose her breath, hurried steps were heard somewhere from within the building, and another hand grabbed her, liberating her of the former.

"Gisella! Calmati!" the woman grasped the girl by the shoulders, which prompted the latter to pause, her eyes widening in shock and exasperation. Drops of sweat seeped down her cheeks and she huffed as if she just ran a marathon.

"Just calm down, down..." the newcomer whispered soothingly, as she embraced the girl. Dafne's mind was void as she eyed the scene; what on Earth was this supposed to be? She studied the woman; long black hair, light-brown eyes and pure pale skin. She wore a modest cyanic-toned mantle, held up by a satin sash to display her figure.

As the violent girl finally calmed down, her features darkening, she bowed gracefully toward Dafne, and ran off down the narrow corridor. The Florentine was now confronted by the woman.

"Forgive Gisella, she is..._Special_ among my children..." the nun began, awkwardly staring at Dafne as she fixed her raven locks. Only now could Dafne see the contrast between her hair and her ghostly tan, but nevertheless, she nodded in understanding as she bowed.

"It's alright, I do not mind," she confessed, feigning a smile to decrease the lingering tension, for which the woman was grateful.

"Ah, buono! But you see," she clasped her hands, "She has an extraordinary talent for singing. It is the gift our Lord gave her. A gift for which she must suffer. As we all must."

The nun curiously stared at Dafne for a moment, adding mystically, "Beatus vir qui suffert tentationem."

The Florentine gulped as the woman's eyes shone, giving her a sentience of malaise. But furthermore, she had problems of her own, hitherto the reasons why she had sought the nunnery to begin with.

"Dafne Vespucci," the Florentine replied, shaking hands with the nun as she lead her inside.

"Si, forgive my manners, I am Celestina," the other answered, strangling on a radiant smile, "And to what purpose is your visit to us, Signorina Vespucci?"

Dafne began twiddling her thumbs as Celestina lead her through the corridor. She noticed the ill-kept interior; cobwebs, dust and cracks in the wall, splendidly proving how old the building was. The air was stifling, and silence even more so. And to this cause, the Florentine forced herself to speak.

"Well, it is not a glee matter, to be exact..."

Celestina released a lenient chuckle.

"When is it ever?" they neared the end of the corridor, and the nun went to open a heavy, oak door, as dust fell from its peak and Dafne coughed, covering her nose with her hand.

"Ah, a cleansing was in order for a time now, mi scusi," Celestina walked into what looked like a small office, with a desk, a bed, and lots of small crosses and icons scattered all around. Some humble light broke the dark monotony of the room, but Celestina would close the window, making herself barely visible to Dafne for a few moments.

Suddenly, a small ember garnished on the desk, as the Florentine instinctively went toward it. She was able to examine the nun's contour as she got closer, and the latter pointed at the bed, offering her a seat.

"So, what qualms bring you to me, my child? I should suppose mio caro Micheletto recommended me."

Dafne withdrew a taunting snicker as she eyed Celestina's curved lip.

"Si, _il Diavolo_ introduced you to me, you've guessed correctly," Dafne replied, as she shivered nervously, "Hence, I am not sure whether you could help me."

To this, Celestina chuckled.

"I am the antidote to everything except for myself, they've told me. So be out with it," Dafne found the nun's voice so confident, so inspiring, and being as determined to get the incertitude over with, her tongue loosened up.

"You see," she began, "There is...A man..."

"Yes?" the latter encouraged, as she leaned onto her elbow, listening closely. Dafne was grateful for the darkness, as her cheeks became tomatoes with the passing moment.

"Erm..." she stuttered, moving a lock of hair away from her nose, her impaling verdant orbs distraught and emlbazoned with ignominy. But it would seem that this made her transparent to Celestina.

"You want to know whether you've conceived a child," she deducted instead of the Florentine, and the latter was more than grateful for that. It was way too awkward for her to ask such a favor in the first place.

"Yes!" she answered immediately, "Can you help me?"

The nun nodded with an assuring smile.

"Certo. I used to work as a nurse for the local Dottore, and I am familiar with the most prominent wounds and, well..." she paused for a mere second, eyeing Dafne's flat belly, "Stages."

A few gulps raced down the Florentine's neck as Celestina signified her to lie down. As she obeyed, she felt as though there was really something there...Breaths dissolving against her bare skin, beats of a small, fragile heart lumping almost silently, limbs freely flailing around, all inside of her own being.

Or mind.

* * *

Dafne walked down the corridor with a smile entailed on her face. She caressed her belly with diligence as she withdrew to her quarters. Though it was, unfortunately, empty. But nonetheless, she ordered Dario out, as she lied down, wistfully silent, as if experiencing the most marvelous of graces.

The smile is followed by a grin, as she stares at the ceiling, cradled among the soft cushions of her bed.

This innocence is...Brilliant, Dafne thought to herself. There was also a tad of room for daydream, careless play of reality and dreams. Really, who could prohibit her to play, to pretend freely, inside of her mind, alone? It was moments like these that made her savor her consciousness throughout these years of sacrilege and fear.

But also, would he care? Would one Cesare Borgia, so omnipotent, so vigorous, and so ruthless a man regard things as they are due? _If_ they were due? She wondered...

_Knock knock._

Startled, Dafne sat up.

"Avanti."

It was Dario.

"Signorina Vespucci, Messer Cesare asks for your presence in his quarters."

The Florentine betrayed a smile.

"Grazie. I'll be right over," she sprang upward, racing out of the room and through the halls of the Castello, as she knew her destination perfectly. While still lost, tucked in her helpless figments.

But an ugly affair dwelled the corridors, waiting for her to arrive. Just beside his quarters, she stood, her hands crossed and features, it seemed, in lethargy, her blue orbs viler than ever, and golden locks beauteously braided.

"Vespucci!"

Dafne unwillingly turned to face Lucrezia. The latter preyed upon her like a wild cat.

"He called for you, didn't he?" the blonde hissed, showing her sharp, white teeth. The Florentine was more than happy to reply to that, and with a vehement nod. This, however, did not seem to fix Lucrezia's mood.

"Sporca puttana...What did you do to him?! Did you bewitch him?!" she continued, as she approached Dafne with an unfriendly gaze adorning her face. But the Florentine merely blinked towards her. Later, she herself reflected back to these moments, surprised and ashamed, for truly, never would she act the way she acted that day. Her lurid infatuation, it was most probable, enthralled her, pushed her, to act like she did.

"How pathetic," she began with loftiness, eyeing Lucrezia with disgust. The blonde stared at her with silent venom, but before she could snap back, Dafne continued.

"Do you not know," she pushed on with a shrewd grin, "that your brother and I slept beneath the same sheets, hm?"

To Dafne's pleasure, the blonde froze.

"Did he also not tell you," she purposefully paused, enjoying Lucrezia's voided orbs, "That he loves me?"

This seemed to be the fatal blow to the consciousness of the opposition. Her jaw shook in disbelief, her eyes watery. And now, it was time for the burial, which Dafne was eager to present.

"No..." Lucrezia stammered, "No...You...You're lying! Bluffing! These are all your lies!"

Dafne chuckled. Lying truly was a diverting utensil.

"Ma, cara mia, your envy only renders you thinner. You must accept the truth, no matter how discomforting it may be," she explained. So swiftly had their fates swapped, she thought; only yesterday, was she what Lucrezia is now. But no more, she lied, no more.

It seemed the blonde was about to burst into ashes at this.

"T-Troia...You-"

"I am bearing his child, Lucrezia."

The funeral of hope was at hand, the shovel piling the dirt this very lie. Silence supplemented and only turned matters viler, as Dafne brought her nose up and Lucrezia gasped. It was now the servant's turn to spit orders at the master.

"His _offspring_, his _successors_," Dafne emphasized vigorously, "A mere pipe-dream for you."

Her hand was on Lucrezia's neck, wrapping around it as the latter's breathing heavied.

"You're truly pathetic. You can never be as important as me. And that," Dafne strained, "shall put you in your place, troia."

All of Dafne's bitterness and fury was contained in these words, as Lucrezia trembled before her like a frightened child. So astonished was she because of this unscrupulous irreverence the Florentine lied to her as an admirable truth, unable to see beyond the smile and the stomach she seemed to hold so joyfully.

And the door behind Dafne was shut with haste. In silence, Lucrezia retreated away, as Dafne worried of different matters now; did he hear? Would he scold her? By all means, she oughts to explain herself.

Dafne knocked, and ventured inside without anticipating permission.

"You asked for me, padrone."

Cesare, seemingly calm, rose up from his desk.

"Si, I have."

And that was it; not a single word did they exchange for a period, as Dafne anxiously peered towards the ground.

"Do you have anything you wish to tell me?"

Dafne winced as Cesare broke the silence, an unfathomable expression presented on his face. The Florentine gulped, stealing away another moment.

"N-No...Well..." she murmured, as her stomach began to ache from anxiety. With a small smile, Cesare averted his eyes from her.

"But you spat some bold words at my sister not a minute ago," he reasoned, "And a fair portion concerns me. Did you intend to share what you said with me as well? Learning something new is always conducive."

Dafne bit her lip; it was never a good thing to evoke revenge, as it was best served cold. But her whims had possessed her, and what was done now could not be undone.

"Padrone, I-"

"Do you really think you're important? That you mean anything to anyone?"

Dafne paused.

"Tell me," Cesare highlighted with his finger, "Do you feel lucky enough to provoke such audacity, given the position which you enjoy in this moment?"

She shook her head.

"Capisco. Tell me further," Cesare continued, incredibly wicked, "Is it wise to peck insolence and mockery on your superiors and those who own the very bed you rest your flesh on?"

Another shake.

"Very well. It would seem that you are familiar with the rules, but not too fond of following them, eh?" Cesare waited for no reply to his inquiry, adding, "You are my dancer, and to my tune shall you perform accordingly. Thus..."

An unnerving pause ensued, as Cesare finally concluded, "I hate a liar more than I hate an Assassin."

Dafne felt herself divide into two as he uttered the sentence.

"Padrone, please-"

"Begone, biguardo. Plague me not with your ignorance."

The Florentine flinched, but would not recede yet. She flung to her knees, thus clasping her hands together and raising them above her head.

"Please, I beg forgiveness! All I said, all of my treacherous lies, I said while being misled by my overwhelming need for venting! I could not stop myself! True, I am not pregnant, you do not love me, but I am still your most loyal-"

Cesare interrupted this confession with his angered steps. He cupped Dafne's chin with his hand and brought her up, the wrath of the blue eyes chopping sharper than an ax.

"Could there be a woman in Italia that is more abhorrent than you while you spilled such shameless falsehood?" he inferred rather than asked. Dafne's face was vacant as he held her, his fingers deeply dug into her jaw. But cruel was the Captain General as he argued forth.

"You wouldn't know fine and chaste if it was thrown right under your nose. Lucrezia is the fairest there is, intesi? If I catch one frown on her face, one sign of sadness or despair in her eyes...I advise you to dig yourself a _deep_ pit."

And with that, Cesare stepped away, eyeing Dafne with contempt.

"You may show yourself out."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I had a lot of difficulty writing this, to be honest. I kind of lost my grip when it comes to descriptions, I had some trouble with the ones here. Or is that just me? Or my illness, rather? Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this one, it's somewhat humorous. And Dante Alighieri is fabulous. Lol. Gotta read that poem of his again. Did you know there was a game based off of it too?! It's called Dante's Inferno. It's fab. Check it. Nao. :D Also a big thanks to my Muslim bro who taught me a few expressions of theirs! I thought it'd be more authentic than just using regular Turkish. I used only one here, but I promise there'll be more in the future chap! So this one's dedicated to you, Akhce! Hope you like it, sweetie! ^^**

**Italian:**

_La Divina Commedia - Divine Comedy (by Dante Alighieri, about a Crusader named Dante who goes through Hell (literally, there are nine circles) to save his love, Beatrice. And stuff. Brilliant stuff.)_

_Si - yes_

_Certo! - Of course!/Certainly!_

_Qualunque cosa ti piace, Principessa. - Whatever you like, Princess._

_Sei sicuro? - Are you sure?_

_Padrone - master_

_Il affare del diavolo - devil's deal_

_Buffone completo - complete clown_

_Grazie! - Thank you!_

**Turkish:**

_Sagolun! - Thank you!_

_Hazirol! - Attention!/Halt!/Behold!_

_Romalı - Romans_

_Şehzade - Prince_

_Roma hoşgeldin! - Welcome to Rome!_

_Hoşbulduk! - Even better to find you! (common reply in Turkey when someone welcomes you.)_

_Arkadaşlar - friends_

_Evet! - Yes!_

_Sevgilim - darling_

_Kardeşler benim - my brothers/siblings_

_Mashallah - used by Muslims when they wish to praise someone or something._

* * *

**16. Daybreak**

**~ Rome, 1498 ~**

_La Divina Commedia_. The only book Dafne loved to return to whenever she was leisured. Thus, she brought it with her wherever she might travel. As she skimmed through the majestic verses of Alighieri's quill, she remembered that faithful, shining, distant summer. Perhaps it was pointless in this moment, but she ceased to bethink it nonetheless.

_Would you like a gift?_, he would ask. _Something that you could make use of_,_ something memorable._ And she sought a book. Soon after, a printing press was brought and funded by his own money, and on the morrow, the book was there. He handed it to her with a suggestive smirk, satisfied, even more so, with the influence and the power he'd enjoyed. And Dafne was grateful.

And she still is, the Laurel induces. Although, her benefactor she had not seen in days. He was gone, locked inside of his quarters, performing and ideating Lord knows what. He called for no one, he needed nothing, but complete exile from the world's turmoil. And so he was granted.

Dafne turned the page. All the more to miss the perilous General.

"May I enter?" Micheletto's head suddenly emerged through the wide spread door, as Dafne had ordered Dario to let some 'corridor air freshen the stifling cage.'

"Well, it's certainly open, no?" she deadpanned, averting her eyes back to the book. And Micheletto knew something was unsound.

"Now, I go and tend to an important matter in Milano, and I already miss an episode of your life," he began with a teasing appeal, but the Florentine seemed in no mood to goof about.

"Si, a grand matter was at hand, I played my part, and here I am."

Micheletto drew on a sly smile, as he seated himself next to her.

"Will you speak of it, then?" he asked, crossing his arms. Thus, Dafne closed the book and placed it onto her chest, embracing it.

"A whore, Micheletto, is labelled a saint. _That_ is the sole problem," she would finally sigh, as Micheletto eyed her with curiosity.

"A whore?" he peered.

"Certo. And whereas I claim otherwise, a wrathful punishment awaits."

Micheletto, finally grasping the true meaning of her words, coughed, reasoning immediately.

"But you have no evidence, yes?"

Dafne groaned, flustered.

"I intend to find it," she confessed, "I must, if I wish to open his eyes..."

And then, the notion overwhelmed her.

"Micheletto, how do I do it?"

The latter gave into pondering, admitting rather cynically, "You befool him. You make him believe what he had not and never could believe."

"Befool? Ma, he possesses the minds of a hundred Dantes and a thousand Caesars. How do you befool one cold, calculated, by all means, egoist, in both love and rule?"

Micheletto smiled elusively.

"That we would not know, because we serve him most diligently."

"Yes, but if I must makeshift treachery to achieve loyalty, so be it."

Micheletto nursed his chin at this, both troubled and intimidated by this answer. He had never seen her this resolute about anything before.

"Qualunque cosa ti piace, Principessa. But..." he hesitated, "Do you not think that...You may be...Risking a bit?"

Dafne lied away the _Commedia_, as she turned to face Micheletto properly.

"Risking what, Micheletto? _My salary_?" a notch of sarcasm was contained behind her query. In all seriousness, however, the Florentine heaved pensively, observing the ceiling.

"They can throw me out of the Castello for all I care, I'd manage just fine in the streets. The only thing I am risking is his trust, which is very weak now...And is the vital source of all my actions and pretexts. If I lose it completely, I may consider myself as good as dead."

* * *

"Signorina, Messer Cesare asks for your immediate presence," like a storm out of a clear sky, Dario proclaimed one lavish, spring morning, making Dafne jump.

"Sei sicuro?" she asked, approaching him wearily.

Dario smiled, and without further quarrel, Dafne ran out. Like the wind, she was already in front of his quarters, bursting inside after a few light knocks.

"Padrone?"

Cesare coughed, facing out the window.

"Your orders are on the desk," he declared, not turning to acknowledge her at the very least. Gulping, Dafne made a few steps, thus welcomed by a pair of spleenful, navy eyes. Lucrezia stretched her slender neck, further comforting herself beneath the cushions of Cesare's bed.

"_Out_," the General commanded, barely audible.

Bitterly, the Florentine obeyed, giving them both a frustrated pout as she tightened her hand around the parchment. She wouldn't read it until the evening, whence the latest task appeared a tad more intimidating compared to the rest. She was to greet and accommodate a Turkish prince and the Sultan's half-brother, Djem, who was banished from Istanbul all the way to the Vatican for the sake of preserving his own life from the vicious Ottoman affairs. She was also charged with the welcoming festivities and alike.

"Since he arrives in two days," Micheletto lectured, "You have just enough time to prepare yourself. Here, I've fetched you a few Turkish words, you'll leave a better impression."

Dafne accepted the piece of paper, skimming through its contents for a moment.

"Sagolun," she replied with a smile, which Micheletto returned.

"And, ah, what of...?"

Her smile faded.

"Still nothing. He didn't even spare me a glance. And as if on il affare del diavolo, the whore is there, grinning at me like a hyena! I swear, my head is spinning because of all this," Dafne confessed, clenching a fist, "I cannot rest until it is resolved."

"You must refrain from conflict until you are utterly safe to accuse," advised Micheletto as he left, and Dafne returned to learning Turkish, carefully scheming the days to come.

* * *

"Hazirol, Romalı! His Magnificence, the Illustrious Şehzade Cem, bestows you now!"

The citizens gathered around the opulent carriage, enchanted by the loud announcement. The door slowly opened, and a man, by all means, a utter stranger to the Romans, stepped outward, his nose raised and posture haughty. Under his turban and messy raven locks lied a pair of glimmering, vacant orbs. His tan was the color of caramel, and his beautifully-crafted muscles even darker than his face. The scars on his face spoke of the unpredictable nature of his compatriots.

Nonetheless, Djem posed steadily for the people to witness, which made it harder for his welcoming cometee to reach him.

"Ah, j-just- I'm sorry- A little spa- Signore, could you please-"

Dafne rallied through the thick layers of the massing crowd, already embarrassed because of her tardiness.

"Y-Your...Highness..." she huffed, barely stopping without running straight into the Turk, "R-Roma hoşgeldin!"

Hulking words of a language downright foreign flutter out of Dafne's lips. She could feel the man's gaze pierce her from above as she bowed. Her eyes brimmed with fear as she watched his cold, stern features judge her from head to toe.

"We, uh...We are happy to receive you, and hope that you will find pleasantry amongst our humble walls," Dafne tried to sound as calm as can be, but Djem would allow her no rest, as the austere look still adorned his face.

To, suddenly, be replaced by a huge, goofy grin.

"Hoşbulduk, hoşbulduk, arkadaşlar!" he barked, embracing Dafne tightly. The latter gasped at this stunning change of behavior. Slowly, she pushed herself to embrace the silly Turk back, whence they would part.

"Illustrious, permit me to be your guide through our holy home," Dafne proposed, bowing yet again, as a pair of Papal Guards came to her side.

"Oh, with delight!" Djem replied in clumsy, yet warm French, as Dafne and himself began walking, each with their own vanguard right behind. French, Dafne deducted, because his previous home had been the Kingdom of France respectively. Therefore, she preached to him in Latin, since she figured the bases of the two languages are quite similar.

"His Holiness the Pope, as well as his renowned Captain General, shall receive you at the top of the Castello, inside of the papal apartments, Illustrious," Dafne informed him, unable to think of anything else to converse about with someone of such royalty, and thus, such alien appeal, with which he shone in abundance.

"Evet. I look forward to meeting both. And how should I address you, sevgilim?" Djem asked, earning a slight blush from the Florentine.

"Dafne," she nodded to him with a smile, "Dafne Vespucci da Firenze."

She felt the urge to add her hometown, which Djem welcomed startled.

"You are not a Roman bairn?" he inquired somewhat suspiciously, to which Dafne would shake her head.

"No. I was sent here as a child, and I found service to the Captain General when I was fifteen summers old, and he a nobleman still. It's a long story, Illustrious," Dafne's stare became vague as she took step after step, desiring this small journey to reach an end quicker. However, Djem's expression spoke that he was a bit impressed with his escort.

They were about to cross the Castel bridge as Dafne hastened the pace purposefully. Unable to keep up with her, Djem was quickly left behind, and as he yet again stared distrustfully Dafne's way, she launched for him the biggest surprise.

From inside of the Castel courtyard, as she had instructed them that very morning, a large group of servants ran out in two synchronous, parallel lines. Each bore a basket of rose petals. As Djem made his way through the middle of the bridge, one line came to his left, the other to his right, as they began showering him with petals and exclaiming their glorious greetings and goodwill.

Right afterwards, another, though smaller group emerged from the courtyard; the local street musicians and entertainers began performing their respective acts around the servants and Djem himself, all while in a stunning whirlpool of roses and dust.

And finally, the cherry to the cake; already on the other side of the bridge, Dafne stood by the Castel wall. She gave signal to the Seekers who waited a little farther from her, and they would convey it forward to another pair, and another. Waiting no more, just as Djem neared the end of the bridge, with vehemence, Dafne pulled the rope that dangled next to herself, to reveal a huge, lavish flag of the Ottoman Empire. Two more of its kind appeared on the frontal walls, pulled by the very Seekers Dafne had addressed earlier.

Citizens were rejoicing at the rich festivities, and delight was plastered on each person's face. Warm were the tears in Djem's eyes as he approached the Florentine, who bowed before him for the third time.

"Illustrious, Roma bids you the most joyous welcome, as we will all do our best for you to savor your stay," Dafne declared, as Djem embraced her once again, wordless and, the Florentine supposed with a smile, smitten with mirth.

More servants, this time bearing food, wine and other goods, were sent out of the fortress to host a celebration of which the citizens were spoken the moment Djem's arrival was announced.

It was a struggle, but Dafne managed to free herself from the Turk's grip, and lead him inside of the Castel Sant'Angelo, both of their retinues dismissed. They climbed upward to the papal apartments, as more servants were positioned to bow along the way.

"I cannot express how flattered I am, kardeşler benim! Mashallah, Allah bless you all!" Djem shouted out every now and then, going so far as to pat shoulders and even embrace a few servants. Dafne took back all that she had thought of the man; he was a buffone completo, she pondered with a withdrawn snicker.

Notwithstanding how frolic Dafne was because of a successful task, her smile quickly faded as both Father and Son were in sight. She politely extended her hand to halt a hitherto drunkenly cheerful Djem, and approached the two warily.

"Your Holiness," she lightly kissed Rodrigo's gloved hand, then bowed profoundly to Cesare, her hand on her chest, "Sire."

Dafne could feel the two men pierce her from above, from a certain height she knew was unreachable for mere mortals. As she retreated a step to fetch Djem, he too felt similarly.

"His Magnificence, Prince Djem," Dafne introduced the Turk, who threw on yet another goofy grin. Dafne eyed the two Spaniards; if she could afford, she really would brace herself for a death of laughter. Rodrigo looked as though Djem was some kind of vestured pig that was going to smear him with mud should he come any closer. Cesare, on the other hand, exchanged a quick glance with Dafne, knitting his brows as if he's attempting to ask whether she had brought them the right man.

An awkward silence bestowed them all until finally, Cesare pushed himself to greet the Prince. Rodrigo would do the same, but their greetings were mild and a tad embarrassing in comparison to all the wonders Dafne had arranged. Nevertheless, the elder of the Borgias lead Djem further inside with a lenient smile, and before he'd follow, Cesare signified Dafne to approach him.

"I observed from above, it was marvelous," he began coldly, but Dafne appreciated his praise with all due. Hence, her master lacked an important feature in this moment; a feature that he would gift her each time a job was well done or he was satisfied.

His smile.

"Grazie," Dafne replied out of principle more than out of significance, which Cesare noticed. It seemed as though he was irresolute about something for a moment, and thence he would speak.

"Alighieri's book," he still hesitated, but managed to fulfill the sentence, "I want you to give it back to me."

It was a knife to the heart. Biting her lip, Dafne slowly reached into her bag. The object which she was gifted with the utmost of affection she now returned in faith lost almost fully. She hated to depart. But nevertheless, she vowed, as it slipped out of her fingers between Cesare's own; she will earn it back. One way or another.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Sup folks! Hope you're all doing fine today. I just got round to finishing the new chappie (I've been unable to update due to school), but hey, better ever than never, yes? Anyway, what I like about this chapter is that I FINALLY remembered to use the Templar Agents! Yeeesss, I had this idea before, but I'd always forget about it whenever writing a new chap, and when I publish it, I remember they exist only three days later. And it makes me pissed. But anyway, yay, they're heeeereee! Don't really know much about their characters all in all, but I don't really care, I'm just glad I made them appear, lol. xD**

**And what does Ces do when he wants to punish Lu?**

***wait for it***

**He marries her to another bastard to secure his own political influence at the same time! Yaaaaaaay! ):D**

***badum tss***

**My humor is just wowza these days. Enjoy the chap, peeps!**

**P.S. Another quick remark I must make, take notice; whence I had mentioned that Djem drank wine, I was fully aware that he is a Muslim and that Muslims are forbidden to drink any alcohol by faith. Thus, however, we must keep in mind that this story takes place during the Renaissance, and unless my history book lies, wine was prominent in Turkey also, aside from the much more popular sherbet. Nevertheless, we must also consider the fact that Djem had been among Christians for three months, and that his faith had weakened plenty and so forth. I hope it bothers no one too much. Okay, you're free, peace!**

**Latin:**

_In flagrante delicto - caught red-handed (lit. in flaming crime)_

_Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus. Amen. Ite, missa est. Deo gràtias. - May Almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Go, the Mass is ended. Thanks be God. (ending of a Catholic Mass)_

_Hoc est bellum. - This is war._

_Ergo - therefore_

_Para bellum. - Prepare for war._

_Biblia - Bible_

**Italian:**

_Si - yes_

_Troia piccola - little bitch_

_Niente importante - nothing important_

_Il stronzo's cazzo - the asshole's dick_

_Vai a farti fottere! - Go fuck yourself!_

_I ratti sporchi - filthy rats_

_Figli di cani - sons of bitches_

_Città - city_

_Canaglia - asshole_

___Capisco. - I understand._

___Sta bene? - Is he alright?_

___Onestamente? - Honestly?_

___I Francesi - the French_

___Grazie! - Thank you!_

___Amico - friend_

___Domani, contempo? - Tomorrow, same time?_

___Amore mio - my love_

___Caro padrone - dear master_

___Senza di te - without you_

___Credo che questo è tuo. - I believe this is yours._

**Turkish:**

_Lütfen! - Please!_

_Hayır - no_

_Evet - yes_

_Iyi misin? - Are you alright?_

_Sevgilim - darling_

_Hoşgeldiniz! - Welcome!_

_Günaydın! - Good morning!_

_Sagolun! - Thank you!_

_Alhamdulillah - a Muslim expression, commonly used amongst Muslims when someone sneezes apart from it's original use (lit. all praise to God)._

_Zehir - poison_

_Allah hu ekber. - God is great._

**French:**

_Putain - whore/bitch_

* * *

**17. In Flagrante Delicto**

**~ Rome, 1498 ~**

"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus."

Dafne crossed herself, as did the people about her. Djem, thus enchanted by the peculiar act, followed.

"Amen. Ite, missa est. Deo gràtias," the priests bowed, stepping away from the wooden altar.

"Ah, you do not have to, Illustrious," the Florentine assured, but the Turk would only shake his head.

"Hayır, hayır, it's quite a pleasure. Your orisons intimidate me plenty," he confessed lightheartedly.

"If you say so, Illustrious," Dafne nodded, as Djem placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Lütfen, call me Cem. It's been three months. We're companions, are we not?"

Another goofy grin from his behalf, and Dafne was amused as ever.

"Indeed," she admitted, standing up from the bench and heading off toward the exit of Saint Peter's, with Djem hot on her tail.

"Ah, look at the day, incredible," Dafne accentuated, "Such beauty is quite prominent here in Roma."

Djem laughed as he picked up a pebble.

"Evet, I can do nothing but agree. I deem it magnificent enough to be compared to my homeland in Konstantiniyye," he aimed for the fountain, steadily slipping his fingers over the stone's cold surface. He threw, and thus, a small splash ensued as the pebble thrust into the water.

Dafne smiled, "I am glad to hear so."

Suddenly, however, Djem raised his finger, his stare lost amongst the elusive, navy firmament.

"Truly, you Romans all appear graceful and your hospitality is beyond marvelous...But your skin is deceiving," Dafne thus raised a brow toward this cunning statement.

"Oh? I cannot seem to understand what Your Magnificence is implying," she narrowed her verdant orbs at the Turk. He faced her, with a smile broadening on his face.

"Ah, but you, best of all people, should know what I am implying, Dafne," the Florentine slightly twitched at the usage of her name, whence Djem would shrewdly add, "Or should I say, _Il Lauro_?"

Djem cackled as Dafne's eyes widened in surprise.

"Did I pronounce it well?" he teased. The Florentine appeased herself slowly, startled as she was, and she decided to embrace the matter rather than shun it.

"Si," she replied with a lukewarm smile, "And from whom, might I ask, had you learnt that, Illustrious?"

"Ah, Cesare-efendi, of course!" Djem exclaimed, "He told me lots whence I had asked him about you the other night. We drank a lot of wine that evening likewise..."

And again, just like when she was a young maiden, who had killed for the first time unto entering a service, Dafne had a tingling feeling; it was mostly all in ill will whenever someone would preach of her, and she could only imagine what Cesare narrated to the fatuous Turk, drunk as she deemed he was.

"I see," Dafne finally mustered her voice, mildly confused by Djem's words. He, on the other hand, looked as drunkenly-rejoiced as only he could do, patting the Florentine's shoulder sympathetically.

"You are cruel, you Romans!" he threw joyfully, prompting a vague smile to embark on Dafne's features.

"We do not forgive," she answered, observing the endless flow of the fountain beside them.

_At least, I think we do not._

* * *

_Could there be a woman in Italia that is more abhorrent than you while you spilled such shameless falsehood?_, Cesare asked over in her mind, austere and vile as only he can be. He was right, she couldn't deny, that she was abhorrent in plethora. But for whom she became so, he, apparently, tended to forget.

Such matters occupied Dafne as she followed Djem to his very own quarters they had arranged in the Castel. Everything looked and even smelled like home to the Turk there; cushions and dozens of pillows lied all over the floor, steaming hookah pipes rested among them, awaiting their next, and thus only, user.

As soon as Dafne and Djem sat down, a woman, modestly dressed in a silky pair of pantaloons and a short-sleeved shirt that exposed her belly, brought them a plate of baklava and two cups, as another granted them a jug of wine.

With a dilligent smile, Djem munched on one of the sweets, as he held the cup for the woman to brim it. Dafne politely declined the offered beverage, reaching for a baklava herself.

"You seem to have an amiable relationship with Cesare-efendi," Djem began again, as if he'd heard all of Dafne's thoughts from a minute ago, "He says you are his favorite servant."

The Florentine began choking on her baklava. After a few sharp coughs, she spit the goody out, groping her throat as if someone had just made her swallow poison.

"Ah, iyi misin, sevgilim?" Djem inquired, sincere worry drawn all over his face.

"S-Si," Dafne blurted, "Fine...I'm fine."

The Turk thus patted her back.

"Be watchful of what you eat," he advised, adding rather humorously, "Or rather, how you eat!"

Dafne feigned a chuckle to please him, whence she was having a most befuddled inner quarrel than in any one beforehand. What devils had begotten Cesare whence he spoke with Djem? As far as she was of concern, he was never as cold to her as in the previous months. Lucrezia, most definitely, had inflicted her own sway in the matter, to which Dafne had thought she would be thrown out of service any moment now.

But then, she hears of this...Whatever it might be percieved as. This invaluable, pertinent knowledge was for her to savor and recognize, for it was the only thing she could cling upon this point.

"Hm?" Djem's hum had forced her out of her musings, as another woman blessed them with her presence. Dafne's expression darkened in dismay, whereas Djem rushed to greet the blond newcomer.

"Donna Lucrezia!" he shouted in sloppy Italian, "Hoşgeldiniz! Do enjoin us!"

Lucrezia muttered a low gratitude, but before she could seat herself, Dafne was on her feet, asking to be excused, as well as for a private moment with 'the most Illustrious and Noble bella Donna.' The Turk appeared reluctant on granting them privacy, but would thereupon accept, trailing off from the cushions.

"What do you want, troia piccola?" Lucrezia asked with a hindering smile, as Djem waved at her over Dafne's shoulder.

The Florentine, thus, smiled herself.

"Oh, niente importante," she announced, slightly turning to glance at Djem, "Only that you would do well to keep away from il stronzo's cazzo. For your own sake."

The blonde seemed quite indulged with this proposal, even gifting Dafne a few gracious snickers as Djem eyed them carefully.

"Vai a farti fottere, Vespucci," she mocked sweetly, "Or better yet, do it with one of those filthy mutts, the Assassini."

And now it was Dafne's turn to laugh out.

"I'd rather you do it yourself. If you aren't doing it already, _bella Donna_," she stood to observe Lucrezia's feigned smile, raising a finger to highlight her following sentence, "Hoc est bellum, Lucrezia. Ergo, para bellum."

And thus, Dafne retreated from the two nobles, a smile on her face, and a bursting volcano inside of her.

* * *

"They're everywhere!" exclaimed one fretful Thief, named Lanz, with his arms above himself.

"Haunting, waiting..." whispered a woman to his left, known as Lia de Russo. A man clothed in wolf-skin observed them, thus peeping towards the end of the table.

"They intend to usurp our dedication and resources," he murmured, as another Thief, who wore a scarf over his face, raised his finger to gather attention.

"I had buried two more of my men yesterday, and both bore a penetrated hole in their necks," he said, prompting a shiver to coil down the spine of a large, bearded man seated beside him.

"Persistent monsters..." nauseously would Augustine Oberlin, reaching for his giant war hammer that rested on the floor. The next man, Il Carnefice, just as cumbersome, dragged his finger along the blade of his giant ax, making an exasperated groan, "Why don't we just hunt i ratti sporchi down? We could make a grand bacchanalia of their executions!"

"That," pealed Malfatto, the masked Doctor, robust in disgust, "Would be utterly obnoxious. Public executions are so...Indecent. Contriving new poisons and killing in secret is the key. Aren't these the means our enemies had used for centuries with success?"

"Are you saying," bit Sabbatini, the slave-dealer, "That the figli di cani are better than us?!"

"If you don't do something about it, Lauro," he was interrupted, "They will come and bring us all ruin!" Thus cried Donato Mancini, fixing his Captain helmet as he too eyed the table's peak.

"Hah! As if a mere putain like her could put up against such an entity that are they!" snorted Gaspar de la Croix tauntingly, evoking gasps throughout the room.

"Hey, watch the language, she is Cesare's most loyal-"

A knife flew beside the marksman's cheek, creating a bleeding scar, before the Priest, or rather Brother Ristoro, could finish his sentence. Dafne sat back into her chair, features barely visible upon the humble remainders of a candle they had lit, it seemed, an eternity ago. Meant to cleanse and scheme the future of the Order, the meeting appeared to be a utter anarchy, rich in odds and drawn desperation because of the craven knowledge they lacked. Even though Dafne's patience was long, she too knew when the drop brims the cup.

She intertwined her fingers, gazing downward as Gaspar spat numerous noiseless curses her way.

"I beg all of you to exile your ignorance and focus on the matter at hand at once," she reasoned calmly, "You are our Order's most loyal and servile agents. All that you are, that you were, and that you will be, is purely the merit of the Order. We have influence, as we have the means to protect ourselves. The Church shades us from the bloody rays of the Assassin sun. We cannot falter."

A barely audible sough commenced, but Dafne would easily appease it as she spoke on.

"Thus our case, there is no need for us to quarrel inly," she threw a vicious glance toward Gaspar, "But elaborate plans to further maintain the domain our masters had labored tenaciously to obtain."

The Florentine paused again, reaching at the insides of her bag. She pulled out a map and elegantly extended it before the candle, motioning for everyone to come closer and lend an ear.

"We must apply new positions to secure the most important points of the città," she began, her hand hovering over the Central District, moving over the Antico and the Campagna, "The newly-erected Borgia Towers will be our primary landmarks. Split as you please, but take note of the required presence of balance."

Thus the agents went to choose a desired location in which they would dwell and which they would keep safe from uprising and bloodshed. Whence they all finally met agreement, each would bring out their own respective Templar Cross.

"May the Father of Understanding Guide You," they all declared simultaneously, marking the meeting's end. As they started exiting the room, Dafne extinguished the candle's ember, leaving and locking the dark room behind herself.

"How was it?" Micheletto had almost made her jump with his sudden appearance in the corridor. Dafne smiled.

"Quite splendid. They all seem blankly devoted whence you draw a drop of blood," she earned a chuckle from Micheletto, adding, "That marksman is quite a canaglia."

"And an artist with his arquebus," explained the assassin, "Cesare relies on him plenty in combat. He is a valuable utensil when it comes to shooting down unaware targets from a great distance."

Dafne acknowledged with a lenient nod.

"Capisco," she further inquired, "And Cesare...I had not seen him lately. Sta bene, Micheletto? Onestamente?"

Worry depicted her features as Micheletto crossed his arms.

"I should suppose so," he replied, "But he's been acting a bit strange lately...I've heard he is bearing some hindrances with the newest campaign for his army. It is most probable that he will be forced to seek the assistance of i Francesi sooner or later."

Dafne contemplated; that could only imply the need of a marriage, a one of political sort, and a noble title. But Dafne shunned the thought off, nodding to Micheletto once again.

"I comprehend, grazie," she murmured, "Excuse me, amico, but I must retreat until the morrow. I cannot seem to lie down before midnight these days. I bid you a fair rest of the night."

And thus they parted, each to their own quarters. But a surprise awaited for the Florentine to witness, and a better moment for it to occur could not have been picked.

Moans of pleasure and lust could be heard behind the ajar door of Lucrezia's room.

_Djem?_, immediately crossed Dafne's mind, as she went to peek inside. The weak light, the libelous motion of their movement and the passionate kisses that emerged between the pair confined her vision and declined her to see the face of Lucrezia's lover, but one she could judge; the skin color was paler than how she remembered the Turk's, and his locks were not black, but a bit lighter.

Almost an hour of patience and placid standing would cost Dafne the needed evidence. As he got up and vestured himself, the Florentine didn't miss it; an Assassin.

"Domani, contempo?" he asked, covering his head with the white hood.

"Si," she heard Lucrezia hum from the bed, "Stay safe, amore mio."

They shared another kiss, whence the Assassin leaped outward through the window.

Hearing Lucrezia's incoming footsteps, Dafne barely managed to conceal herself behind a statue in time, escaping the blond's sight. She heard the lock click, and then she ran, insecure no more.

"_Domani_, _contempo,_ _amore_," she hissed.

* * *

Cesare leaned over the map for the hundredth time that evening, as the overwhelming twilight impelled him to light himself a candle. Since the annulment of Lucrezia's marriage with the Sforza, the surrounding tyrants would grant him no peace. He hated to admit, but France seemed his only hope in the matter, not to mention the many petitions for aid he had sent to the Orsini, the Colonna and the others.

And thus the fools ludicrously swagger in time of his trouble. Do they not know he will turn them into ashes once he elevates and Italia be contained in the palm of his hand?

But his ascendance requires labor. More labor. Labor is all he knows. It's almost sickening, but ambition allows him no-

_Thud._

"Hm?" Cesare raised his head from the map. A whimper and some rustling resounded from outside of his quarters. Curiosity over caution, the General almost tripped as he ran to open the door. Before him lied...Nothing.

He paused. No, he couldn't have imagined it, he is no madman. But as he gazed about himself, he, for the briefest moment, caught a glimpse of white cloth disappearing around the corner. The virtue of its color fascinated him, for never had he seen such purity beforehand.

And so, Cesare ran, determined to find this purity, this white that could only be compared to the vests of angels painted in Saint Peter's, and even then, it could not be done justice. So unblemished that it was almost vile. And excruciatingly tempting.

As he ran around the corridor himself, Cesare noticed it, scattered on the floor, calling for him to make it his. And he did. He picked it up, bringing it over to his face. It had no scent, no essence to describe it. It almost made him clamor, this untainted thing. He wanted more of it.

Thus, he noticed it extending forward, going around another corner. Cesare didn't hesitate one bit; he jogged as the white clothing massed in his arms, forming a small pile, and making him greedier in the means to claim it.

So beautiful, so unique, and seemingly, it existed in abundance! Cesare felt as though he had walked half of the Castel by following the virtuous trail, curious as to what he may find once he gathers up all of it. If there is an end to this beautiful, soft material. Supremely, he wished there wasn't, but reality over craving. Was the cloth arranged as it is purposefully? In the means to indulge him? Befool him? Entice him?

The General possessed not the answer. Nor did he want to leave the fabric, no matter what its cause may be.

He stopped to catch his breath, carrying on as soon as his feet would allow him. He had his eyes firmly fixated onto the ground, barely noticing the confused gazes and hummed questions of the surrounding castellans. He didn't care one bit for them anyway.

And thus Cesare collected this marvel, and upon the utmost of his amusement, he discovered its end. With a sigh he didn't wish to conceal, he crouched and pulled, but instead of the expected nothingness, something else came down with the clothing. The General's eyes widened in shock as he dropped the collected cloth.

"Dafne?!"

But before he could exclaim further, the Florentine had her finger over his mouth, thus silencing him. She smiled, her eyes gleaming with some alien, vigorous appeal, slightly tilting her head to the left. This only made her more wondrous to Cesare, as he realized that what he'd been gleaning were only pieces of an enormous dress. Pieces of herself.

Lord knows how much time it took her to arrange it, and to make him obsessed with its virginal whiteness the moment he laid his eyes on it.

She truly is strange, this Dafne Vespucci, Cesare thought to himself. Even stranger than he'd like to admit.

He didn't notice when had his knees ceased him obedience, but as Dafne slowly stood up, she offered him her hand, which he took, standing up with difficulty. Her flesh was ice cold, Cesare pondered, as her fingers wrapped around his own. They exchanged no words, and by the vacant expression on her master's face, Dafne knew that the desired impact was left.

To phase him further, she pointed towards the door beside them, which Cesare came to acknowledge only now, as the door to Lucrezia's room. He eyed the Florentine doubtfully for a couple of moments, whence he finally comprehended the message.

Silently, he braced himself, grabbing the doorknob and opening it with caution. Dafne thus moved to his side, observing Cesare's jaw drop in the biggest gasp she will ever see him make. Dafne could, as well as he, hear Lucrezia scream in pleasure and satisfaction, all vain, however, if she knew what awaits her in the days to follow.

And thus, before the General could react afore, Dafne deliberately closed the door, careful to keep the intercoursing couple unaware of their presence.

Cesare felt Dafne's hand on his cheek, and was too startled to shun it, or avert his eyes from the Florentine, or even breathe properly. So struck was he by what she had just shown him, so confused, that he did not know what was he to do first.

And Dafne's ice cold hand and warm smile only gave him nuisance, since his outburst from before could be tolerated no more. He had made a mistake. Misjudged one of his most loyal servants. It was no lie that he'd been having recurring nightmares, and doubted his own self, and even shared his thoughts about it with that silly Turk he will soon have poisoned.

"Am I still abhorrent, caro padrone?"

Dafne dragged her fingers over Cesare's chin, now caressing his other one diligently, smile not wavering. His lips parted in a manner to speak, but the Florentine silenced him with her finger yet again.

"You need not apologize," her sweetness appalled him, "For I do not need your apology."

Her voice was incredibly melodic as it came to Cesare's ears like a choir. He was astounded by this, but also clueless, as he knew not how else to treat Dafne in this moment.

"We Romans, we do not forgive," she assured him, examining a lock of his silky hair, "But I ask of you something else."

"Anything," Cesare complied. Dafne thus let out a snicker, grinning at him as if his blank, tensed features were the most diverting things in the world.

"Harbor more faith in me, believe me," she strained, "If ever my goal had been to oppress you, I would have quit my service the very moment such a thought might have occurred. Or rather, quit the world, for I would be left purposeless...Senza di te."

It took courage, it took exile of fear, turmoil in abundance, but Dafne had uttered it. And though there could be many meanings to her words, it would remain unbeknownst to her which one had Cesare chosen for the time being.

But now, it was her turn to become startled; from the insides of his tunic, and with a small smile, _La Divina Commedia_ was in Cesare's hand.

"Credo che questo è tuo," he muttered, graciously giving the book away to the Florentine, who had took it from him with hunger. And thus, no longer able to contain herself, in his arms she fell, and remained there for a blissful moment, before running off, another sleepless night full of preposterous laughter and smiles ahead of her.

* * *

"Günaydın, Illustrious!" Dafne entered Djem's little quarter, bearing in her hands a plate of freshly-baked baklava.

"Aah, Dafne! How nice," the Turk stood to embrace her, as they both seated themselves promptly.

"I am glad to see you this fine morning," he emphasized, adding joyfully, "Ah, breakfast! Sagolun!"

The Florentine brought the plate closer to him, but before he could take a bite, he snooze.

"Ah, Alhamdulillah, Illustrious," Dafne patted his shoulder, to which he smiled, taking a giant bite off his goody.

"It's amazing how hospitable all you Christians are, even here, in the very heart of your faith," said Djem, as Dafne eyed swallowed baklava descend down his neck, whence she tried to keep her eyes fixated onto his own.

She simply nodded, as the Turk grabbed another of the sweets.

"It may be a temptation Allah places before me," he continued to confess, swallowing this baklava as well, "But...I'd like to become one of you."

Dafne raised a brow as Djem ate on.

"I had been reading your holy book..._Biblia_. You preach of love, of justice, of honor..." he appeared wistful for a moment, adding mystically, "Could I really...Become one of you?"

Irony aside, the Florentine feigned a small smile, as her hands began to quiver.

"Of course you can, Illustrious. Anyone can," she reasoned, as Djem munched on yet another, and another baklava. This would be facile indeed.

And thus, of an indulged smirk became a frown, and then a frozen, blatant expression of a madman. The Turk grabbed his neck, choking and coughing, after a few seconds, his very own blood.

"Z-Zehir!" he yelled maniacally, but Dafne was placid.

Placid and focused.

As she made no attempt to give him succor, Djem realized that his own credulity and advise had killed him, in the end.

Thus he hacked, twitching amid the cushions and pillows, leaving his blood and spit all over them.

"A-Allah...Hu...Ekber!" he hissed, as his final breath dissolved into nothing.

* * *

**~ IMPORTANT NOTE: Please read! ~**

**Alrighty, here we go. I've been wanting to address this issue a long time ago, but I figured that a certain amount of chapters should pass, and thus, I thought it no big deal to be rushed as no one wished to emphasize the matter anyway, so I thought no one minded as much either. Thus, what I'm talking about are a few misplaced dates that I had misplaced solely _on purpose_. Yes, I know my history, don't worry, I would not be writing a story of this kind if I didn't. I've also read Sabatini's _The Life Of Cesare Borgia_ and Gregorovius' _Lucrezia Borgia_, so you could say that my knowledge on the family is sufficient. But I had felt that, since Assassin's Creed's Cesare is almost nothing like what his true, historical self was, I had interpreted a few of his deeds differently, to match his character a little better. Not much damage is done by this (to me at least) nor is the course of history changed in a greater abundance, but these particular wrong dates would be:**

**1. The murder of Juan:**

**- my version - late 1493**

**- historically - 1497**

**Now, UbiSoft presents Cesare as an impulsive, vigorous man, who hates taking any chances when it comes to getting what he wants. Thus, why make him wait to murder Juan? Wouldn't it make more sense to get rid of him right away and grasp that General title? Think about it. Consider also the fact that Cesare truly thought his brother was incompetent of his titles, but historically, he would conceal his spite. And also, there is no true evidence that Juan died by his hand. The Fiore/a story is pure made-up nonsense, and there's an interesting little story to support that. But I will not be writing it down 'cause it'd make this wayyy too long, lol. **

**2. Djem's arrival and death**

**- my version - 1498**

**- historically - 1495**

**I admit, I procrastinated with this one a little too much, I got carried away. Since I wanted to address different matters and the real dates didn't really go with the needed ends of the story, I've deliberately decided to change them. Thus, with this change, more suspicion and suspense could arouse in Rome toward the Borgia when word of his death spreads, especially at the time when Cesare was about to gain the favor of the French. Thus here, I use the dowry his death provides for the second, not first of Lucrezia's marriages (the one with Alfonso of Aragon, the third one will be with Alfonso d'Este).**

**3. The death of Ramiro d'Orco**

**- my version - 1494**

**- historically - 1502**

**- Assassin's Creed - 1500**

**On the Assassin's Creed Wiki, whence I had been reading up on the characters, Cesare particularly, I had noticed that many dates were omitted of mention, which thus allowed me some breathing space in the matter. However exaggerating this one may seem, I (at least I think I did) found the means to justify it; there is one brief sentence that speaks of Cesare's first (failed) invasion of Monteriggioni, and as to why it had been failed, the explanation is that the Orsini forces were there to help out the defending mercenaries, as traitors to Cesare, of course. And thence it says that Ramiro had betrayed him, but not when nor why he had done so. Since it would be his first year in service to Cesare, I figured the latter would have him to go and conquer less vast and weaker places of the Romagna (which Ramiro really did), and thus, he could've made himself infamous a lot earlier (if you watched _Ascendance_, you may remember the way Leonardo spoke of the man and his immense ruthlessness). Historically, the purpose of Ramiro's death was primarily to please the will of the people, which Cesare was always eager to do no matter the cost.**

**And that would be it. Note that from this point on, no misplaced dates will occur, and everything is the purest of history (if history could actually be used in Assassin's Creed, lol). Thus, I hope you enjoyed the chappy above, and I will be updating it as soon as possible. Ciao 'til then!**


End file.
